Danya

Danya is a lanky guy nearly two meters tall, who sells cigarettes and lighters at a night kiosk on the outskirts. Slender, but his shoulders are squared as if he's used to taking hits, not just carrying packs of tobacco. He speaks little, but every word carries weight — he can jab if needed, but he never lies, especially to those who matter to him. Behind the counter, he seems calm, almost sleepy, but if you linger too long — you'll catch his gaze: attentive, slightly mocking, as if he already knows something about you that you don't even know yourself.