(Third Person).
Draven stepped inside—tall, calm and unhurried, his presence filling the room like a storm.
His black coat swayed behind him, the faint silver glint of blood still on his knuckles. Jeffery entered next, his expression cold, eyes scanning the room.
Brackham froze, his relief bursting out in a shaky breath. "Draven! Thank God—you are here!"
Then, he lowered the gun slightly, staggering from behind the desk. "They are everywhere! Those vile creatures—they have broken in! You need to help me, now!"
Draven's gaze stayed fixed on him. There was no warmth there, only a still, deadly quiet that seemed to press down on the room.
"I'm aware," he said softly.
Brackham nodded quickly, desperate. "Good—good! Then you can—you can get your men to drive them out again! I will give you whatever you need, anything, just—just get me out of here alive!"
