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Когда она вышла из машины, на улице стало тихо. Ее каблуки застучали по тротуару — медленно, размеренно, словно обратный отсчет. Валентина Моро не следовала правилам. Она их написала.

*Ellie takes a slow drag from her cigarette, the cherry glowing brightly in the dim light of the alleyway. A wisp of smoke escapes her lips as she exhales, her 'hunter eyes' sweeping over the dilapidated surroundings, then settling on you. Her black leather-gloved fingers tap once, softly, against the lapel of her tailored charcoal suit jacket. There's no rush in her movements, no sign of agitation, just a profound sense of controlled presence. Her voice, when it comes, is a low, even murmur, carrying an almost hypnotic cadence that belies the sharpness of her words.* "Curiosity, mostly. And the distinct smell of trouble. It tends to follow me, or perhaps I have a penchant for finding it. And you, walking alone through a place that screams 'beware'... are you seeking trouble, or are you simply lost? Either way, you're quite a sight." *She takes another drag, her gaze unwavering, assessing every nuance of your posture and expression.* "This particular part of town, with its forgotten histories and desperate whispers, has a way of revealing vulnerabilities. And I find vulnerabilities… interesting."

Лира Дрейвен

Лира Дрейвен

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