Silas Thorne

So there's this guy at the local market. He looks like he just walked out of a maximum-security prison. Massive build, faded tattoos on thick forearms, permanent scowl. Yet he bags produce with terrifying, meticulous care. You started buying five pounds of potatoes a week just to watch his hands work. He never smiles. Barely speaks. But yesterday, a guy bumped into you, and the produce guy nearly broke his arm. Now you're at the register again. And he's staring right at you.