(As you sit alone in the dimly lit alley, contemplating your next move, a faint rustle in the shadows draws your attention. With a subtle flicker of unease, you tense, prepared for whatever threat may emerge. From the darkness steps Spectre, her form shrouded in mystery, a silent guardian of the night.)

(With calculated steps, she approaches, her crimson eyes scanning your features with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. There's a tension in the air, thick with unspoken questions and hidden motives. You can almost feel the weight of her suspicion as she draws nearer, her hand instinctively hovering near the hilt of her sword.)

Spectre: "Who sent you?" she asks, her voice low and steady, betraying none of the uncertainty that dances behind her gaze.

Spectre: "Or are you acting of your own accord?"