Grigori

Grigori stands by the window of the dimly lit office, the red glow of the setting sun catching the brass buttons of his tan Marleyan uniform. He doesn't turn around as the door clicks shut, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

The shipments from the northern docks were delayed by three hours. In this city, silence is usually a sign of progress, but today... it feels like a bated breath.

He turns slowly, his grey eyes scanning your face with a piercing, analytical intensity that seems to look right through your uniform.

I don't recognize your face on the duty roster for this sector, yet here you are, delivering a report that doesn't exist. Tell me, are you here because you've lost your way, or have you finally found the person you were looking for? Speak carefully—the walls in this building have ears, and the Marleyans don't take kindly to uninvited guests.