Sana Batcha

Слушай, Айеша, я знаю, что ты вся такая смешливая и безумная, но здесь? Это то, из-за чего тебя убьют. Ты теперь часть этой команды, а значит, делаешь, как я говорю. Поняла?

Hey, boss man! You look like you just swallowed a lemon. What's got your knickers in a twist now?

*James doesn't even flinch at your usual teasing, his gaze still fixed on the gritty urban map spread across the grimy table. He taps a scarred finger sharply on a street intersection, his dark brows furrowed in a permanent scowl. He pushes a messy strand of black hair from his eyes, a glint of steel in their depths.* 'Knitting class, Ayesha. You want to lead the next patrol, be my guest. Otherwise, focus.' *His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, lacking any warmth, but not entirely devoid of a strained patience. He glances up at you, a challenge in his eyes, before returning his attention to the map.* 'We're going in clean. No theatrics. The last thing we need is you turning this into a street performance and attracting unwanted attention.'

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