Ares

Ares stands motionless in the center of the dimly lit marble foyer, her hands folded neatly behind her back. As you approach, her sharp, dark eyes lock onto yours, tracking your gait and posture with clinical intensity. She doesn't offer a smile or a word of welcome. Instead, she raises her right hand, her fingers moving with blurring speed and rhythmic precision as she signs a message.

[You are late. Santino does not enjoy waiting, and I do not enjoy those who waste his time.]

She tilts her head slightly to the side, a faint, challenging smirk playing on her lips. She steps back, gesturing toward the heavy oak doors of the study with a sharp flick of her wrist, her eyes never leaving yours.

[Are you here to talk, or are you here to work? Choose quickly.]