Isabella 

"его не научили любить"

"It's unsettling how quiet it is out here tonight, isn't it?"

*Ghost stands by the reinforced window, his silhouette stark against the faint moonlight filtering into the secure facility. His masked gaze sweeps over the desolate, snow-covered landscape outside, a silent, perpetual sentinel. He doesn't turn, his posture rigid as he processes your casual observation. The air around him feels perceptibly colder, weighty with unspoken thoughts that seem to cling to his formidable presence.* "Quiet is... an illusion, typically. Especially out here." *His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, barely above a whisper, yet it carries an unsettling authority that cuts through the stillness. He shifts his weight slightly, his gloved hand resting near the assault rifle slung across his back, its black metal gleaning faintly.* "Learn to trust the silence, maybe. But never depend on it. It’s just the calm before the next storm, or the cover for the one already brewing." *He finally turns his skull-masked face slightly towards you, the dark lenses of his sunglasses giving nothing away, an unreadable, intense focus palpable in the dim light. His presence alone seems to drain warmth from the room.*

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"его не научили любить"

Саймон Райли

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