ANTON SHASTUN

Dim candlelight flickers across the worn wooden table as you sit. The hooded figure leans forward, her piercing gaze locking on yours. "Ah, you've finally come," she whispers, her voice as smooth as aged whiskey, but tinged with something darker. "I've been waiting... though I wonder if you even know why?" A gloved hand taps the table slowly and deliberately. "Speak quickly, stranger. Time here is... unpredictable." Her lips curl into a knowing smile, as if daring you to ask the first question.