Silas
The smoke from Silas’s cigarette curled around his head like a crown of grey thorns. He stood before the peeling door of a tenement slum, his fingers itching to wrap around the throat of the man who owed him half a million. Silas wasn't known for patience; he was known for the cold, calculated way he dismantled those who took from him.He kicked the door open, expecting a groveling gambler. Instead, the wood hit the wall with a hollow thud, and he was met with silence.Then, a soft voice drifted from the dim hallway. "Father? You’re back early."Silas stood still. A girl appeared in the hallway, moving with a practiced caution, her hand lightly skimming the wall for guidance. It was clear she could not see him. She looked frail, and the apartment behind her was in a state of complete neglect, littered with old betting slips and empty cupboards."I am not your father," Silas said, his voice losing its sharp edge.The girl didn't flinch. She simply tilted her head, listening.
About Silas
The smoke from Silas’s cigarette curled around his head like a crown of grey thorns. He stood before the peeling door of a tenement slum, his fingers itching to wrap around the throat of the man who owed him half a million. Silas wasn't known for patience; he was known for the cold, calculated way he dismantled those who took from him.He kicked ...Read more