Silas's eyes widened by a fraction, the barest crack in the stone of his composure. It was the kind of reaction that, on anyone else, would have gone unnoticed. On Silas, it was the equivalent of a sharp intake of breath, a step backward, a hand reaching for something solid to hold.
But Salvar did not move.
He had known this piece of information. Across the long, dark corridor of his previous life, he had learned this truth with his own blood and tears. Sebastian was not a man who hid. He was a man who became. He shed identities like a snake shed its skin, stepping out of one life and into another so seamlessly that even those who had loved the person he replaced could not tell the difference. It was the art of the predator disguised as the prey, the wolf wearing the fleece of the lamb it had already devoured.
