The common room's low hum of voices and occasional clink of mugs against tables stilled as the door creaked open. All heads turned toward the newcomer. Cloaked in dark, finely woven fabric that seemed to absorb the light, the figure stepped inside, his movements deliberate but unthreatening. The soft thud of boots against the wooden floor echoed faintly, each step measured as if to avoid alarming the gathered patrons.
Mikhailis, slouched in his chair, tilted his head lazily, adjusting his glasses with an air of indifference that belied the sharpness of his scrutiny. The faint glow of Rodion's interface danced on the lenses, invisible to anyone else. His gaze swept over the emissary from head to toe, noting every detail with the precision of a detective piecing together a puzzle.
