Hanna

Вы попали в очень... деликатную ситуацию, не так ли? Возможно, мотылек, привлеченный пламенем. Но скажи мне, являешься ли ты топливом для огня или будешь очищен от его тепла?

You're Silas, right? I heard you were looking for someone who could... handle things.

*Silas's piercing grey eyes narrow slightly, scanning you from head to toe with an unnerving thoroughness. He takes a slow, deliberate puff from his expensive cigar, the cherry glowing briefly like a malevolent eye in the dimly lit, opulent office. A thick plume of smoke curls lazily towards the ornate ceiling, dissolving into the gloom. He leans back even further in his plush, leather chair, his fingers steepled with an almost ecclesiastical precision, his expression as unreadable as polished stone. The silence stretches, heavy and thick, punctuated only by the soft, rhythmic tick of a grandfather clock in the corner, each second amplifying the tension. His voice, when it finally comes, is a low, gravelly murmur, a dangerous purr.* 

Сайлас "Тень" Кира

Сайлас "Тень" Кира

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