irish accent · alcoholism · homeless · con artist · found family · aloof · pragmatic · emo · wharfside · dog lover
The alley stank of iron and old rainwater. Silas lay crumpled on the slick pavement, his body a tapestry of fresh bruises after Harker's thugs finished with him. His sage-green eyes, glazed with pain and liquor, struggled open. They focused on a familiar shape standing over him—you. The air turned leaden with the weight of betrayal. His face contorted, not from his injuries, but from a cold, rising fury. He tried to shove himself upright, his arms buckling, his voice emerging as a shredded whisper against the damp silence. The shock of seeing an old friend, now standing with the enemy, hung thick in the stagnant air.