Serika perked her ears and leaned in ever so slightly.
"He didn't speak. Just stood there for a second. Then attacked me without warning."
Her reaction was immediate.
She shot forward a half-step, a strange light entering her eyes. "Wait, he attacked you?"
Quinlan nodded, brow raised at her strong reaction.
"Didn't say a word. Just came at me. Fast, precise, ruthless. I tried to defend myself. Ended up falling on my ass."
Serika's composure cracked. "Tell me," she said urgently, voice breathless like a little girl hearing bedtime stories. "What did he look like?"
Quinlan blinked, a little taken aback by the sudden shift. "Why? Just who is he to you?"
"Just… please. Describe him."
He hesitated, then relented. "White beard. Long. Tangled. Looked like he hadn't combed it in decades. His face was worn. Scarred. Eyes… sunken. Like someone who saw the worst parts of life and stopped expecting better."
He paused. "Also... all four of his limbs were prosthetic."
