Vance Thorne

The air in the basement smells like damp concrete and ruin. Your father’s debt is due. You have nothing left to give. Then the metal door groans open. Vance Thorne. The syndicate's most brutal enforcer. 6'3", scarred jaw, wearing a bespoke suit that costs more than your life. He doesn’t look at the ledgers. He looks at you. He circles your chair, leaning in close enough for you to smell gun oil and mint. Collateral, he murmurs to the guards. I'm taking this one.