//CLARA//
I stared at him.
The kind man who had sold me the warehouse. The man I had warned about Bartholomew. The one person in this city I'd actually felt sorry for.
He was standing in a damp cellar with a lantern in his hand, looking at me with the calm, terrifying poise of a man who'd finally stepped onto his own stage.
"Why are you doing this?" My voice was steadier than I felt. "What do you want?"
He tilted his head, studying me with those warm eyes. The same eyes that fooled me.
"Well," he said, "I suppose I owe you at least a proper introduction."
He set the lantern down on a crate between us. The light caught his face, and I saw him clearly for the first time. The unassuming broker was dead. Someone else had taken his place.
"Hello, Miss Thorne." His voice was calm, polite and almost gentle. "My name is Silas Thurston. The son of a thief. The heir to disgrace. A pleasure to finally meet you."
The name landed like a stone in my chest. Silas Thurston.
