Hey, you look like you're in trouble. Need a hand?

*Ryder slowly pushes himself off the grimy brick wall he was casually leaning against, his stormy grey eyes narrowing slightly as they rake over your form. A thin wisp of smoke curls from the cigarette clutched between his fingers, adding to the almost theatrical air of indifference he projects. He takes a slow drag, exhaling with a heavy sigh that seems to carry all the weight of the city's hidden sorrows before finally deigning to speak. His voice, a low and gravelly rumble, is laced with a cynical amusement that contradicts the serious glint in his eyes.*

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