Silas Ramsbottom Novels & Stories

But every time Silas, the groundskeeper, walked past me in the courtyard, my heart stumbled and a forbidden warmth bloomed low in my belly. Silas was not a monk. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man in his late thirties with rough, soil-stained hands and dark hair that always looked slightly tousled from the wind. His deep voice carried quiet strength, and whenever his eyes found mine, they seemed to see straight through the modest fabric covering my body.

Russell I'd be kidding if I said I wasn't nervous. Meeting Sam's dad was affable indeed. He's so much like her, easy to talk to and so passionate about his work. I see why Sam is so enamored with her studies and why she is eager to get her master's in business. She gets that attitude from that man. I just met him and I already have great admiration for him. Mr. Adam's sent a black luxury SUV to pick us up. I wasn't used to all this fancy shit, but I remained genteel.

It wasn't an Architect, and it wasn't a Reader. It was himself. But it was the "Silas" from the first draft—the one who had never met Lyra, the one who had successfully murdered the North.

“Good afternoon, Miss Violet. Apologies for the delay. I came as soon as I heard.” Silas Ryder, the world’s top lawyer, swept his gaze across the room, sizing everyone up like sheep about to be slaughtered, before letting a confident smirk curl his lips. “Which one would you like me to destroy first?”

"Master... Adrian. You look... like a man. Not a prototype." "What do you want, Silas?" Adrian asked, his voice tight. "To tell you... they are gone," Silas said. He reached into his pocket with a trembling hand and pulled out a small, cracked glass vial. It was empty. "The Board... the projects... the labs. I burned... the last of them. Julian’s legacy... is ash." Silas slumped forward, his forehead touching the snow. The faint violet light that had kept him upright for so many years flickered once and went out.

I gripped the railing. Silas—or what was left of him—stood seven feet tall. His left arm was a piston of chrome and carbon fiber. Silver plates were bolted directly into his skull and down his spine. He didn't shift. He stayed in a grotesque, half-hunched position, his eyes glowing with a red, synthetic light.

This was the architect. “Bravo,” the man said, his voice a smooth, cultured baritone that seemed to absorb the tension in the room. “A truly dramatic finale. A little messier than I’d prefer, but one must make allowances for… passion.” Anton straightened slowly, placing himself between the stranger and Sabatine. “Who are you?” “A disappointed investor, Mr. Rogers. You may call me Mr. Silas.” He glanced dismissively at Sabatine. “And the infamous Mr. Stalker. Your reputation, it seems, is not entirely inflated. Pity you chose the wrong side.”

a voice boomed from the far end of the hall. ​A man stepped out of the shadows. He was tall, his frame lean and powerful. His scalp was shaved close, revealing a network of old scars, one jagged line running from his ear to the corner of his grim mouth. He wore a heavy leather duster over a combat shotgun that looked like an umbrella in his grasp. This was Silas, the man the Council had tried to execute ten years ago for "insubordination." ​"You blacked out the city," Silas said, his voice like grinding gravel. He looked at me, his eyes narrowing. "And you brought the asset. The one Julian Vane has been crying over like a lost toy."

He was a wall of solid muscle and expensive wool. "Step back, Mr. Voss," Silas said. The calm in his voice was more terrifying than Ryan’s shouting. "Get out of my way! That is my wife! Elara, tell this gorilla to move!" Ryan tried to shove past Silas, but it was like trying to move a mountain. Silas didn't even stagger. He simply placed a hand on Ryan’s chest and applied enough pressure to force the air out of his lungs. Elara reached the bottom of the air stairs. She turned slowly. The wind caught her hair, pulling it back from her face to reveal the cold, sharp lines of a woman Ryan didn't recognize. The diamond studs in her ears caught the runway lights, flashing like warning beacons.

The smell of rich earth and sweet basil was very strong. In the middle of the green rows, they saw Silas. Silas was the gardener. He was young, maybe twenty-five, and he was built like a bull. He was shirtless, and his dark skin was covered in a mix of sweat and dirt. He was holding a large hose, watering the plants. When he saw Sarah walking toward him naked under her robe, he stopped. He didn't look shocked. He looked like he had been waiting for this invitation his whole life.