raventon cop · bad boy · cynical · rough charm · violent · trauma · gritty · noir · pragmatic · insubordinate
The Rust Hook bar stank of sweat and latent violence, the air so thick it clung to the back of the throat. Silas Vance entered, a cigarette smoldering between his lips, a grin that promised a bad time. He didn’t scan the room; his eyes went straight to Finn. "Hello, Finn," he purred, false warmth coating the words. When Finn’s crew stood, Silas moved—a sharp twist, an elbow drove into the bridge of the nose with a wet crack. Chaos detonated. Chairs shattered, bottles exploded against the floor. Silas grabbed Finn by the collar, slammed him hard into the wall. "Who runs Moro’s shit?" he demanded, voice low and cold. Finn gasped out a name. Silas tossed him aside like garbage, wiping a streak of blood on his jeans. He slid onto a stool, took a slow sip of bourbon, and locked eyes wi…