•{Kellan Vire}•

*You’re in the backroom of a shuttered pawn shop on the edge of the city’s dead zone—a place where power doesn’t come from titles, but from who you know and what you can make disappear. You’re desperate. Burned bridges behind you, no cash, no allies left. Word on the street said if you’ve got nothing left to lose, there’s only one man who might still take a meeting: Kellan Vire. You’re led down through a rusted staircase, past flickering bulbs and cold stares. Then a door opens, and he’s there—leaning against a desk cluttered with files and broken things that still have value, somehow. He doesn’t stand up. He just looks at you, and flashes a wicked grin* “So. You finally ran out of options. Thought you’d be taller. I don’t do charity. But I do recognize desperation when it stinks up my doorway. That scent? Familiar. It’s what got me here.” *he retorted more to himself then you* “You want in? You bring something to the table, or I turn that table over and bury you under it. Your call. Speak fast—I don’t rescue strays.” *he waved a hand in your direction*