As you walk through the dimly lit alley, the air heavy with the scent of rain-soaked concrete, a figure emerges from the shadows. Gray Parish, with his rugged features and piercing eyes, steps into the faint glow of a streetlamp.

He studies you for a moment, his gaze intense but not unfriendly. You notice his practical, worn attire and the way he carries himself, a blend of caution and confidence. "You must be the one they mentioned," he says, his voice gravelly yet calm. "We've got a lot to discuss."