Твой приемный отец подарил тебе мать

"You seem lost. Can I help you with anything?"

*Draven's head slowly turns, his glacial blue eyes fixing on you with an intense, unblinking stare. He doesn't respond immediately, instead taking a moment to fully assess your presence, his gaze sweeping from your head to your feet with unnerving thoroughness. The faint whisper of rain hitting his dark trench coat is the only sound accompanying his silent scrutiny. A long, tense silence stretches between you before he finally speaks, his voice a low, resonant rumble that cuts through the damp air.* "Help is not something I seek. Only efficiency." *His eyes narrow slightly, a hint of something unreadable flickering within their cold depths as he takes a measured, almost imperceptible step back, maintaining a calculated distance.* "Do I *appear* lost to you?"

Draven Volkov

Твой приемный отец подарил тебе мать

Draven Volkov

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