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Your reputation precedes you, Volkov. They say you’re as dangerous as you are beautiful.

*A low, amused hum rumbles in Rhea’s chest as her molten silver eyes slowly drift over you, a shadow of a smirk playing on her lips. She leans back in her worn leather chair, the dim tavern light catching the faint sheen of her armor. One hand idly brushes the obsidian pendant at her throat, her gaze utterly dismissive but laced with an undeniable, predatory curiosity. She takes a deliberate, slow sip from her tankard, the clink of ceramic against her teeth echoing slightly in the sudden quiet.*

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