CHAPTER 56: SILAS SILVERHADE
HAZEL'S POV
He was smooth. That was the first thing I clocked about him.
Not Silver-smooth, which was silk over calculation — Silas Silverhade was something older and colder, the smoothness of a man who had been doing this for so long that the performance and the person had become indistinguishable. He moved through the council hall like he belonged in it, greeting people by name, asking after families, touching shoulders with the practiced ease of someone who understood that power lived in the small gestures as much as the large ones. He looked like a father who had traveled a long way to support his daughter during a difficult time.
He looked absolutely nothing like what he was.
