Custom silver body.
Broken-jaw skull because Elias had shattered his jaw in a motorcycle accident at nineteen and joked that death itself should look equally damaged.
Broken chain because Elias used to say nobody owned him.
Silas knew every scratch on it.
He had watched Elias flip it open thousands of times.
It was impossible for Toby to have bought it accidentally.
Silas lifted his eyes.
The boy stood trembling.
“Son.”
Toby looked at him.
“I’m going to ask you something.”
Silas’s voice was calm.
Too calm.
“Tell me the truth.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where did you get this?”
“My dad.”
“What was his name?”
“Richard Harris.”
Bones looked at Silas.
“Know him?”
Silas did not answer.
He stared at Toby’s face.
The narrow jaw.
Brown eyes.
Hair that refused to lie flat.
Something about the boy felt painfully familiar.
“Richard Harris is dead,” Toby added.
Silas’s eyes sharpened.
“When?”
“Long time ago. I was a baby.”
“How?”
“Car crash.”
The lighter became heavier in Silas’s hand.
“What was your mother’s name?”
“Sarah.”
Silas took one step closer.
“Sarah what?”
“Harris.”
Silas’s face drained.
He had heard the first name once.
Years ago.
Long before Elias disappeared.
Not as a girlfriend.
Not exactly.
Elias had mentioned a waitress named Sarah several times during the final months before vanishing.
Silas had forgotten until now.
Or tried to.
“Arthur.”
Bones looked at him.
“Lock the front door.”
The room stirred.
“Reaper—”
“Lock it.”
Bones obeyed.
“Nobody leaves yet.”
Deadbolts turned.
Blinds closed.
Toby’s eyes widened.
Silas noticed the fear.
He immediately regretted how the order sounded.
He crouched so that he was closer to Toby’s height.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
Toby looked unconvinced.
Silas placed the lighter on the bar rather than keeping it.
“Your father left any photographs?”
“Yes.”
“Letters?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your mom home?”
Toby nodded.
“Is there an adult with her?”
“No.”
Silas frowned.
“How old are you?”
“Ten.”
“And you walked here alone?”
Toby looked down.
Silas rubbed one hand across his mouth.
“Why?”
Toby whispered, “Because she needs the money.”
Something in Silas broke a little.
He looked toward Bones.
Then the canvas pouch.
Then the kid’s sneakers, worn nearly smooth at the toes.
Silas stood.
“Pick up your things.”
Toby hesitated.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No.”
“Are you calling the police?”
“No.”