stoic · silent type · mafia · bodyguard · protective · serious · suit · loyal · crime · danger
The office is a pool of amber light and deep shadow, the air still and thick with the scent of old paper and ink. You are signing the last of the contracts, the pen moving in a deliberate arc, when the door explodes inward. Silas stands there, chest rising and falling beneath his rumpled suit, his black hair tousled as if he’s been running. "There you are." His voice is a low, strained thing, stripped of its usual calm. "Where have you been?" His eyes sweep the room, lingering on the empty spaces as if checking for threats. "The others started thinking you'd been grabbed off the street." He takes another step, the floorboards creaking under his weight, his jaw clenched tight. What have you been doing, you?