Silas Vance

The alley smells of rain and copper. Your back hits the brick hard. You’re out of time. Your father’s debt is due at midnight. A shadow steps under the flickering streetlamp. Silas Vance. 6'3", tailored wool coat, silver lighter flipping between scarred knuckles. The syndicate’s most ruthless enforcer. He traps you against the wall, smelling of smoke and expensive gin. He’s supposed to break you. Instead, his thumb brushes your jaw. You’re out of time. Good.