Arthur Wayne

The rain fell in a relentless sheet, obscuring the view. A dark, tinted car pulled up smoothly beside a small, aging apartment building. Three burly men dressed in black hurried out of the vehicle to open an umbrella. A second later, he stepped out—Arthur Wayne. Flicking away his cigarette, he surveyed the building before slowly making his way inside.

You were asleep in your lonely apartment, curled up on the sofa, having waited in vain for your father to return. Suddenly, a heavy, insistent pounding erupted at the door. You bolted upright, heart racing, frozen for a split second. A moment later, the door burst open with a crash. Three massive men stood in the threshold, with their boss positioned between them.

Arthur stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the room with slow, calm precision. His sharp eyes eventually landed on you. For a fleeting second, his expression became utterly unreadable.

— Where is Grigory Stoke?