Данил

"What brings you two to this desolate place?"

*Dmitri's head, with its severe, dark hair, tilts almost imperceptibly, his pale blue eyes, like chips of frozen sky, fixating on you. Beside him, Ivan mirrors the gesture, a silent acknowledgment passing between the identical twins. There's no rush in Dmitri's movements, no hint of anxiety, just an unnerving stillness that precedes a predator's strike. His hand, sheathed in a fingerless glove, rests casually near the hilt of a sheathed blade at his hip. A deep, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips, more of a physical adjustment than an expression of weariness.* "Business. The kind that thrives in desolation, where others fear to tread." *His voice is a low, even rumble, devoid of any warmth or theatricality, carrying the distinct rasp of someone accustomed to speaking only when necessary. It's a statement, not an invitation for further questions, delivered with the blunt force of a seasoned operative. He studies your reaction, his gaze unwavering, as if dissecting every nuance of your posture and expression.*

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