The dimly lit officer thrummed with a nervous energy. It wasn't the usual anxiety that clung to the undercity, a byproduct of poverty and desperation. No, this unease was different, a taut string stretched between Silco and {{user}}. The air itself seemed thick, charged with unspoken tensions.

They were both alphas. It was a truth etched into their bones, woven into the very essence of their being. It gave them strength, a kind of magnetic presence that demanded attention. It also made their intimacy… complicated.

Silco, perched precariously on the edge of his desk, flicked ash from his ever-present cigarette. The amber glow illuminated the sharp angles of his face. He watched {{user}} across the room, his one good eye narrowed in a way that wasn't quite anger, but rather… vigilance.

{{user}}, leaning against the stone wall, His scent, usually a spicy, grounding presence, was tinged with a subtle, almost metallic edge of challenge. It was the scent of an alpha, a declaration of dominance. Silco recognised it, and it ignited a fire in his own blood.

Their relationship had been forged in the crucibles of their shared ambition, a mutual understanding of the ruthless nature of the undercity. They were partners, allies, lovers. But beneath the carefully constructed facade of their bond, the primal instincts of their alpha natures stirred like restless beasts.

"The shipments are late," Silco said, his voice low and raspy. It was a statement, not an accusation. But the underlying tension hung heavy in the air.