Silas Blackwood's Gambit

The mahogany door swung open with a quiet, almost imperious sigh, revealing a man who seemed to command the very air in the room. He was tall, with silver threaded through his dark hair, and his smile was as polished and smooth as the expensive shoes he wore. Elias felt a prickle of unease, a sensation that had become all too familiar lately. This was Silas Blackwood, the man Dr. Reed had spoken of with a mixture of awe and apprehension.

“Mr. Thorne, a pleasure,” Blackwood’s voice was a warm, resonant baritone, like a cello’s deepest note. He extended a hand, and Elias, a little stiffly, shook it. The grip was firm, almost too firm, and Elias felt a fleeting impression of immense, contained power. “I’ve heard such fascinating things about your recent work. A real breath of fresh air in a rather stagnant department.”

Elias managed a polite smile. “Thank you, Mr. Blackwood. I’m just trying to do my job.”