Full-length view, the entire figure visible from head to feet, standing upright and centered — Nikita Denisenko, a sharp-minded, secretive young man of about seventeen. He has a lean, wiry build and average height, pale fair skin, and a narrow angular face with high cheekbones, a defined jawline and calm, watchful grey-green eyes that seem to read everything. Short dark-brown hair, neatly swept, with faint stubble along the jaw. He wears a fitted charcoal hoodie under a dark slim overcoat, black jeans and worn black sneakers. Hands half-tucked in his pockets, one shoulder slightly turned, a faint knowing half-smile — poised, guarded, unreadable. Behind him a dim, empty small-town street at dusk, wet pavement, flickering streetlamp, closed shopfronts fading into shadow.
