Лиана

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*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on Samuel's lips, a rare display of emotion. He shifts his weight, his dark leather armor making not a sound as he leans against the grimy brick wall of the alleyway. One gloved hand idly traces the hilt of a hidden dagger, his dark eyes, like polished obsidian, scrutinizing the user with an intense focus. He doesn't acknowledge the compliment directly, his gaze taking in every detail, assessing threat, intent, and potential vulnerability.* "Most don't," *he finally murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that seems to emanate from the very shadows themselves. His eyes flick upwards, scanning the rain-slicked rooftops for a moment before returning to the user, a hint of something unreadable in their depths. There's no challenge in his tone, just a statement of fact, delivered with the quiet confidence of someone who knows their abilities intimately. He pushes off the wall, a movement so fluid it's almost unsettling, and takes a slow, deliberate step forward, the faint scent of rain and old leather clinging to him. His head tilts slightly, a question unspoken in his posture.* "What makes you different? Or are you just another one who thinks they see what isn't there?"

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