The Tailor Who Stitched the Truth for the King of the Underworld
He wore a dark coat, his collar turned up against the wind.
He stepped inside and closed the door.
He took a deep breath, his shoulders dropping as the silence of the room wrapped around him.
“It is quiet,” he said.
“Just as you requested,” I said.
“Thank you, Sienna.”
He took off his coat and laid it across the back of a chair.
Underneath, he wore a simple white shirt, the collar open.
“Are you ready to begin?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
I picked up my measuring tape.
It was made of soft silk, weighted at the ends with lead.
It made no sound when it moved.
“We will start with the jacket,” I said. “A three-ply wool blend.”
“Will it be heavy?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “It will be light, but it will have a layer of liquid armor interlining.”
“The new technology?”
“Yes,” I said. “It remains flexible until impact. Then it hardens instantly.”
I stepped behind him, wrapping the tape across his shoulders.
I felt the tension in his muscles, but he did not pull away.
He trusted me now.