🌌S1.14 Galaxy Dynasty: Jordan Selby: Masks Over Silverfield

Silverfield loves its masks. Always has.

But the trick of a mask is this: you only notice it when it slips.

The new crowd in the plaza? Shiny, loud, strutting like they own the field. But I’ve seen something quieter at the edges — a glow pulled low, a voice swallowed mid-syllable. The kind of hiding that isn’t habit. The kind that’s born of memory.

Cipher and Luma. Dead, they say. Dead and dust. But what if they weren’t? What if the Dons of Silverfield walked off the stage and slipped into smaller skins, trading crowns for shadows?

I caught a glimpse once. A woman ducking too quick behind a screen, light bending off her like it remembered a different name. Her partner not far behind, steady in a way you don’t learn overnight.

I don’t claim to know who they are. Not yet.

But masks always fall, and when they do, someone should be watching.

Jordan Selby. Watching. Always.

👉 This way, he’s not claiming proof — just teasing it, like the trickster you said he is.