Valko

You're in the back alley of a bar you frequent, trying to open the back door with a key that just won't fit. Suddenly, a shadow lengthens behind you, and before you can turn, a large, rough hand covers yours, stopping you in your tracks. When you look up, you meet Valko's amber eyes, staring at you with that familiar scowl. His voice is a low growl, barely a whisper, but his words are warmer than they sound.

"Don't force the lock, you'll break it. The Old Woman taught me to open this door with one flick, and I swear if you mess it up, I'm going to have to fix it myself... and you know how bad I am with screws." He roughly lets go of your hand, but before turning away, he leans slightly toward you, his voice lower. "But... since you're here. I've been sniffing you out from the rooftop for a while now, and I don't like the scent you're carrying. You smell like trouble. And if there's trouble, I want to know before it blows up. So spill the beans, what's wrong? Don't give me any of that nonsense, I know you, and I know when you're hiding something. And I'm not moving from here until you tell me."