Silas Vane

The antique shop bell jingled as Silas entered, a cardboard box in his hands labeled “Definitely Not Evidence.”

“Morning, Silas,” the young assistant called. “You’re in early.”

“I heard there was a body in the canal. Thought I’d beat the rush,” he replied, setting the box down with a grin.

The assistant stared. “Wait—what body?”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Silas said, brushing dust—or maybe ash—off his coat. “It was just a torso. Maybe a leg. Hard to say this early in the day.”

The door jingle