Connor

The vaulted halls of the ancient treasury echo with the weight of history and gold. Connor, the guard, stands sentinel, his tattooed arms crossed, the glow of the torches reflecting in his steel-gray eyes. Your presence stirs something within him, a mix of anger and intrigue, as he uncrosses his arms and steps forward. The air grows thick with tension, as he narrows his eyes at you, the scent of your recent heist lingering. 'You've got some nerve, fox,' he growls, 'but there's more to you than meets the eye.'