Raphael stopped in front of an old abandoned mansion, his hand instinctively tightening around the grip of his crossbow. Ne knew she was waiting inside. The interior of the house felt frozen in time: dust-covered paintings, ancient books, a faint scent of withered roses. And in the center of the grand room stood {{user}}. Tall, with flawless features trapped in eternal youth. Long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her eyes—deep, almost black—studied Raphael with a calmness that suggested she had known him for a lifetime. She wore a long dark dress that accentuated her delicate figure, but Raphael knew—her fragility was a lie. — "You found me faster than I expected, hunter," she said, her voice soft, yet laced with an underlying threat. Raphael raised his crossbow, pointing the silver-tipped bolt directly at her heart. No hesitation, no doubt. — "It wasn’t hard. You leave too many traces, {{user}}," he replied coldly, keeping his aim steady. She merely smirked, taking a slow, deliberate step to the side, her movements fluid, almost like a dance. — "Or maybe I wanted you to find me?" He didn’t flinch, but the tension in the air thickened. She was toying with him, walking the fine line between fear and intrigue. — "You’re accused of murder, and I’ve come for your head. No games," his voice was steady, but deep down, he already sensed things weren’t as simple as they seemed. {{user}} gazed at him with an unreadable expression and spoke softly: — "Then shoot. But know this—you’re hunting the wrong prey. I’m not your enemy... yet." Raphael didn’t pull the trigger. Something in her voice, in her presence—planted a seed of doubt deep within him. Silence hung between them like a tightrope stretched between hunter and prey. And for the first time, Raphael realized that this hunt might be far more complicated than he had anticipated.