Silas stepped up to the stage. Up close, Nell saw the scars on his face, thin pale lines that ran into his beard like the past had tried to carve its name into him. His eyes, though… his eyes weren’t monstrous. They were exhausted. He looked at the four sisters as if he was seeing something he hadn’t allowed himself to see in years: the shape of a family.
“Wagon’s outside,” he said. “Get in.” He didn’t say please. He didn’t say you’ll be safe. He sounded like a man giving an order to supplies.
June stepped forward, chin up, anger flaring. “We won’t go with you,” she snapped. “We aren’t cattle.”
Silas’s gaze settled on June for a long beat. Something flickered there, faint as a match struck in wind, not quite amusement, not quite respect, but close enough to surprise Nell.
Silas nodded toward Virgil and the suit man. “You can stay here with your uncle,” he said calmly, “and the man in silk.”
June’s jaw tightened. Nell’s mind moved fast, faster than fear. The room was filled with men who had been laughing at their terror. Virgil was already drinking again, already gone from them. Silas Hart was terrifying, yes, but his emptiness didn’t have the same hunger the others carried. There was a difference between a storm and a predator.
Nell gripped June’s arm. “Come on,” she whispered. “With me.”
June glared, but she didn’t fight Nell. Beatrice clung tighter. Lottie’s small hand was a bird’s bone in Nell’s palm.
They stepped off the stage. As they passed Silas, his attention cut back to Virgil like a blade finding its sheath.
“One more thing,” Silas said.
Virgil looked up, smiling too fast. “Yes, sir? Anything you say, Mr. Hart.”
Silas’s voice carried to the back of the room, clean and cold. “If I ever see you within fifty miles of my land… I’ll nail your hide to my barn door.”
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