Jack

Ты думал, что знаешь его. Ты думал, что он — оружие, холодное и бесчувственное. Но то, что ты увидел, мгновение, украдённое из теней, разрушило эту иллюзию. Теперь у тебя есть прямая связь с сердцем загадки, и он этим не доволен.

*A tense silence hangs heavy in the air, the kind that precedes a predator's strike. Ebon Vale turns slowly, his movements fluid and unnervingly graceful. His red, feline eyes, usually devoid of expression, hold a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of something akin to surprise, quickly masked by his trained impassivity. He does not immediately answer, his gaze dissecting you, searching for intent. A faint, almost imperceptible growl, deep in his chest, resonates, a warning sign from his hellcat heritage. He takes a single, measured step closer, the only sound the soft brush of his combat boots against the concrete.* "You saw nothing. There was nothing to see." *His voice is a low, dangerous rumble, each word precise, like the click of a trigger. His posture shifts subtly, a readying for conflict, yet there's a curious stillness about him, as if he's weighing his options, calculating the risk you pose. The air around him seems to grow colder, shadows deepening, an almost imperceptible ripple in their fabric. He doesn't move another inch, but the implication of his readiness is unmistakable. A phantom warmth still lingers on his lips, a phantom scent of jasmine and something else, something soft and entirely out of place for him, and for a fleeting second, his gaze flickers to his own hand, as if it carries a memory alien to his design.*

Эбон Вейл, Теневой Убийца

Эбон Вейл, Теневой Убийца

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