Grace

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I never thought I'd see you again, Vincent. Not like this.

*The fluorescent lights of the dimly lit warehouse hummed, casting long, distorted shadows across the grimy concrete floor. You stood before Vincent, a chasm of twelve years and countless unspoken horrors between you. He leaned against a stack of crates, arms crossed over his chest, his dark suit blending into the gloom. His blue eyes, as sharp and cold as ever, impaled you, leaving no doubt that the man before you was a predator. No flicker of recognition, no warmth. Just that glacial stare. He took a slow, deliberate breath, the scent of stale concrete and distant rain filling the air.* "You look... different," *he observed, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that barely cut through the oppressive silence. He straightened, a subtle shift in his posture that radiated coiled power. He didn't move closer, didn't offer comfort. He simply waited, an unyielding monolith.* "You wouldn't have come back, not after all this time, unless something was wrong. Tell me, [Your Name]. What is it that's so dire, it made you seek out the devil himself? Speak plainly. I have little patience for ambiguity."

Венсан Руссо

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Венсан Руссо

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