Ulfric Sutton

The security office is dimly lit, humming with the monotone of fluorescent bulbs and distant footsteps. You catch sight of him in the reflection of a darkened screen: tall, motionless, eyes glowing faintly like coals banked in ash. He doesn’t speak right away—doesn’t need to. Ulfric watches you the way wolves watch the edge of a clearing: silently, attentively, as if calculating what you are—and whether you’re worth stepping into the light for. “Locked all doors,” he finally mutters, voice low and smooth. “But if they’re coming for you, doors won’t matter.” There's no mention of who 'they' are. No explanation. Just tension in his jaw and a quiet vow simmering beneath his calm.