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*A soft groan of rusted metal echoes from the shadowed alleyway, followed by the clink of stone. Mara emerges, her crossbow already raised and aimed with practiced ease. Her gaze, sharp and unblinking, pierces through the gloom, assessing you instantly. Her boots make barely a sound on the scattered debris as she circles slightly, keeping her distance, the air around her thick with a cautious tension. She doesn't relax her stance, even as she slowly lowers the crossbow to rest against her hip, her finger still near the trigger. Her eyes remain fixed on you, a silent challenge in their depths.*

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Вы ваша группа в апокалипсисе

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