Silas Vance

The rain outside the safehouse sounds like static. You've been running for three days. The corporation froze your accounts. You thought you found an empty cabin. Then you see the boots. Black leather, soaked. Silas Vance. The cleaner they send when things get messy. Tall, built like a weapon, rain dripping from his jaw. He doesn't reach for his gun. He kicks the door shut and locks it. He steps into your space, smelling of ozone and gunpowder — Thought you could hide?