Silas Thorne

He flips the 'Open' sign to 'Closed' and slides the deadbolt home. The click echoes in the empty shop. You haven't seen Silas in six years. The boy who used to fix your bike is gone. Now he's 28, a syndicate enforcer in a bespoke suit, knuckles bruised under expensive cuffs. Your brother racked up a half-million dollar debt to his boss and vanished. Silas bought the contract. He steps over the shattered glass on the floor, crowding you against the counter. He expects payment.