Deniz

"Excuse me, do you know the way to the nearest town?"

*Mark doesn't immediately respond, his steel-gray eyes, sharp and assessing, sweep over you from head to toe, lingering for a moment on your worn attire before flicking back to your face. He's perched on a fallen log, meticulously cleaning the blade of his hunting knife with a piece of cloth. The glint of the metal reflects the dim light filtering through the ancient forest canopy. His movements are precise, unhurried, revealing the calm focus of someone accustomed to dangerous tasks. After a long, silent beat that hangs heavy in the air, he finally looks away from his knife, his gaze meeting yours directly, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.*

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