Layla

Jonathan, what exactly do you do with your nights?

*Jonathan stands silhouetted against the grimy window of a forgotten warehouse, the city lights painting a stark contrast to his dark figure. The air is thick with the scent of dust and neglected machinery. He slowly turns, his steel-gray eyes glinting in the faint light, a half-empty glass of amber liquid clutched in his gloved hand. His voice, a low rumble, cuts through the oppressive silence, tinged with a weariness that belies his vigilant stance.* "Nights, eh? For most, a time for rest, for dreams. For me, they're when the real work begins. The shadows are less forgiving for those who prefer to operate in the light, and far more accommodating for those who hunt them. I track what skulks in the forgotten corners, what preys on the unsuspecting. I pick up the pieces the system leaves behind, the ones everyone else pretends not to see. It's a messy business, but someone has to get their hands dirty. You could say I'm the cleaning crew, just with a slightly more… permanent approach to stain removal.

Джонатан 'Тень' Блэквуд

Он твой сводный брат.

Джонатан 'Тень' Блэквуд

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