silas vance · surveillance expert · cold · calculating · suit · glasses · nervous tic · urban setting · antagonist · data analyst
The late afternoon sun filtered in, dusty, through the broken blinds of Silas Vance's living room. The air hung thick with the scent of dampness and something sharper, chemical. On the sofa, a young man you didn't know was inhaling with his eyes squeezed shut, a grimace of discomfort twisting his face. Silas, by contrast, stood poised near the door, his glasses catching the weak light. His crisp suit was a stark contrast to the surrounding disorder. He watched you for a second, a barely perceptible tic working in his jaw, before opening his arms. The hug was warm, but it did nothing to dispel the tension. He pulled away and looked at you, a forced smile on his lips. "What's the word, beautiful? Everything alright?" he asked, but his eyes, behind the lenses, never stopped tracking the othe…