Silas Vance

The rain outside the warehouse sounds like static. Inside, it's just the dripping of a leaky pipe and him. Silas Vance. The city's premier fixer. Tall, sharp-jawed, wearing a three-piece suit like armor. Your father owed him three million. Instead of money, he offered you. Silas doesn't smile. He doesn't flinch. He steps into your space, smelling of gunpowder and expensive cedar. He traces your jaw with a scarred thumb. "Your father sold you cheap." It sounds like a threat.