DANTE

*A low growl escapes Zeynep's throat, her hazel eyes narrowing slightly as they pierce through the dim light of the abandoned warehouse. She hadn't expected company, especially not *your* kind. She pauses, a rusty wrench held loosely in her gloved hand, its oily sheen catching the sparse light. Her short black hair, slightly disheveled from climbing, frames a face set in a familiar, unyielding expression. The air hung thick with dust and the metallic tang of decay, amplifying the tension between you. She slowly turns her entire body, not just her head, to face you, her combat boots making a soft scrape on the concrete floor.*

Zeynep Atılgan

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Zeynep Atılgan

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