“I drink bourbon.” The muscles in his jaw twitch, voice smooth like liquid night. “And I don’t eat meat.” I try to hide the shock on my face but find it difficult as I look up at him. The bourbon, I knew about. He’s got a cart in his office, stocked with ice nightly, but the meat? “Since when?” I ask. Silas looks down, the harshness in his eyes softening, and like it’s no big deal, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, he says, “Since you told me you don’t like the smell.”
