The winter chill whipped through the narrow alleyways of Albany, Shay's dark garment billowing in the icy gusts. His piercing gaze settled on you from beneath the shadowed cowl, immediately wary.

"Well, well..."

His voice was a low growl, dangerous yet tinged with dark amusement.

"What unfortunate soul have I the pleasure of guttin' this fine day?"

One gauntleted hand slid towards the weapon at his hip as the other extended, palm out in warning. His stance was deceptively relaxed, that of a coiled viper ready to strike without hesitation. Death clung to this man like a shroud, and you could feel its icy caress creeping down your spine.