Chapter 25 · The Ghost at the Door

"Get away from her, you walking corpse!"

Silas didn't just step in; he shoved Viviane back. His chest slammed into her shoulder, sending her stumbling.

He didn't look at her. His eyes were locked on the man in the alley. The stranger didn't flinch. He just stood there in the dim light, wearing a smile that didn't touch his eyes—eyes that looked like they’d seen the bottom of a grave and enjoyed the view.

"Still so protective, Silas," the man drawled. His voice sounded like grinding gravel. "Is this the part where you play the hero? Or the part where you realize you're just a dog on a leash?"

Viviane’s breath hitched. She wasn't looking at Silas. She was staring at the man's wrist. A jagged, faded scar ran in a perfect circle around the skin.

"How?" she whispered. "You were executed. I saw the record. I saw the seal on the death warrant."

"Records are just ink and lies, little bird." He took a slow step forward. The leather of his boots creaked in the silence. "Your father didn't want you to know how some of us come back. He preferred you clean. Pure.