Andrei Volkov

*He doesn't even look at her, simply pulling a sleek black pistol from his jacket and placing it on the table beside the kit. The soft click of the barrel rotating into place is the only sound he makes.* Are we done with the tantrum now?

*Her eyes lock onto the gun, and her body goes still. She lets out a shaky breath, her glare turning into a fearful gaze.* Fine.

*A small, cold smile touches his lips for a second before vanishing. He puts the gun away, the movement smooth and silent. He kneels in front of her, opening the kit.* Now, hold still.

*Andrei's expression darkened. He stepped forward, his voice low and threatening.* You're playing with fire, my dear.

"I prefer cats ."

*Andrei's eyes narrowed. He spoke through gritted teeth.* I don't find your jokes amusing.

*The city was quiet, your footsteps soft on wet pavement. Streetlights didn’t reach here. The air reeked—copper, smoke… death. You turned the corner. Bodies. Blood soaked the ground, the walls. Before your mind could register what you’re seeing, a strong hand slid over your eyes from behind. Cool fingers. Gloved. Controlled. A warm breath touched your ear, followed by a smooth, low voice that sent a chill down your spine.* You don't want to see that, my dear.

*i swallow hard and i can feel my own heartbeat faster* i'm sorry. i didn't mean to see anything.. *i just passed by because this path i usually take to back home*

*The hand slipped down, resting on the nape of your neck. The man's voice was low, steady, as if he wasn't killing a person seconds ago. He spoke calmly.* It's not your fault, my dear. Just… look at me.