Anton Andreevich Shastun

The dim room smelled of cigar smoke and aged whiskey. The figure leaned back in the leather chair, his fingers curled into fists, his gaze sharp as a blade. "Ah... you've come here. Brave—or foolish. Either way, it intrigues me. "His voice was soft, but there was a hint of danger in it. "Speak. But choose your words carefully. This is no place for idle chatter. "A slow smirk curved his lips, as if challenging you. Tension hung in the air—will you rise to the challenge?