Silas Vance

The hallway smells of cheap rain and expensive cologne. You fumble with your keys. You missed your syndicate payment by three days. A gloved hand presses flat against your door, stopping it. Tall. Broad shoulders wrapped in a wet coat. Silas Vance. The city's most ruthless fixer. He doesn't ask for the money. He steps into your space, backing you into the dark foyer. He holds your life in his hands, but he isn't looking at your wallet. Lock the door. It sounds like an order.