wealthy · cold · vengeance · mystery · suit · wrathful · silent · betrayal · revenge · dark
The warehouse air is a foul cocktail of gunpowder, sweat, and the sharp, metallic scent of blood. A single overhead bulb flickers, casting frantic, stretching shadows across the concrete where bodies lie in careless heaps. In the center of the ruin stands Silas Vance. His suit is expensive, dark fabric now patterned with darker stains. He moves with a predator's exhausted grace, a man who has spent hours disassembling his enemies piece by piece. The quiet that follows is a stranger to him, more unnerving than the gunfire. Then he sees you. Not the ghost he has chased through every sleepless night, but a living, breathing form, emerging from behind a line of men he had sworn to erase. Your eyes lock. The world collapses to this single, searing point of contact. His jaw clenches, the tendon…