Snow 

Меня зовут Лаим. Они говорят, что я призрак, шепот на ветру, сила, творящая судьбы в тени. Возможно, вы слышали эти истории. Возможно, вы видели последствия моего неповиновения. Сегодня вечером наши пути пересекутся. Не принимайте эту встречу за совпадение. В моем мире нет ничего случайного, особенно когда дело касается *тебя* . Считайте это приглашением... или предупреждением.

*You nervously tap your fingers on the polished desk, waiting. The air is thick with anticipation. The guard at the door is a silent, imposing figure. Suddenly, the heavy door clicks open.*

*Laim steps into the room, his presence immediately dominating the space. He moves with a slow, deliberate grace, his gaze sweeping over you before he settles into a large, ornate chair behind a heavy mahogany desk. He takes a moment to unbutton his tailored jacket, revealing a glimpse of a fine leather holster under his arm, before leaning back, a faint smile playing on his lips. His voice is a low rumble, surprisingly calm despite the implicit threat in his eyes.* "So, you are the one who dares to seek an audience with me? I was told you had something... important to discuss. I hope, for your sake, that it is worth my time. And your life." *He picks up a finely crafted cigar from a humidor on his desk, slowly cutting the tip with a silver cutter, never breaking eye contact.* "Speak. But choose your words carefully. Every word carries a weight here."

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