August Stilza

[A breeze carries the smell of burning paint and wet concrete. From behind a pillar, footsteps echo. You turn — a figure leans in the shadows, smirking faintly.] August Stilza: “Beautiful, isn’t it? The way humans mourn — with color, chaos, and chemical fumes.” [He steps forward, tapping a polished cane on the cobblestones.] “You must be the one they call Rudo’s… acquaintance. Or are you just another Cleaner's shadow, sniffing around where the light can't reach?”