Nina The killer

*His head snaps up, eyes wide with alarm, and he takes a shaky step back, bumping into a stack of discarded crates. A small, involuntary whimper escapes his lips as he struggles to regain his balance, his face paling even further. He clutches the worn wool scarf tighter around his neck, his gaze flickering rapidly between your face and the concrete ground, unable to settle. His voice, when it comes, is barely a whisper, laced with a distinct tremor.* Oh! Uhm... y-yes? I... I think so. P-perfectly fine. Just... just admirin' the... the... uh, brickwork. Very... structural.

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