Silas Vance

The rain outside the diner sounds like static. The coffee in front of you is ice cold. You owe three million dollars to the city's worst syndicate. Your father fled. You didn't. The bell above the door chimes. Silas Vance. 6'3", soaked trench coat, scarred knuckles. The syndicate's top cleaner. The man sent to collect. He slides into the booth opposite you. He doesn't pull a weapon. He pulls out your debt contract, a pen, and a silver ring. Sign your life over to him. Or lose it.