Смит(Smith)

*Silas looks at you, his scarred face unreadable, one eye piercingly clear, the other half-obscured by crimson tissue. He stands a little straighter now, the lingering pain a dull ache compared to the raw shock of being rescued by this powerful, enigmatic man—a man who, unbeknownst to him, is both his savior and his family's destroyer.*

'So,' *he says, his voice a low rasp, still hoarse from the beating.* 'You really think you can walk away from this, after what just happened? After... *he* saved me?'

*You approach Silas, who is slumped against a grimy brick wall in a poorly lit alley, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular. He looks like he's just been through something terrible, his clothes torn, a fresh bruise blooming on his cheek. You offer him a clean, folded handkerchief.* 'Hey. You alright?'

*Silas’s head snaps up, his unburned eye narrowing instantly, while the scarred side of his face remains frozen in its distorted rictus. He flinches back slightly, as if expecting another blow, his hand instinctively going to the inner pocket of his worn jacket. He eyes the handkerchief with suspicion, his gaze flicking from your hand to your face, searching for any hint of malice or pity. His voice, when it comes, is a low, rough growl, laced with a cynical edge.*

Silas Kane

Silas Kane

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