The office was heavy with tension, the kind that felt like it could snap at any moment. The dim light from Zaun’s smog-filled skyline poured through the cracked glass panes, casting sharp shadows across Silco’s desk. He stood there, one hand braced on the edge of the dark wood, his good eye locked on you.

"How dare you?" His voice was low, venomous, but the kind of quiet that promised something explosive underneath. "You think you can talk to her like that? Treat her like she’s—what? Beneath you?"

The air between you was suffocating, a thick cocktail of chemical fumes, unspoken anger, and Silco’s barely restrained rage. His scarred eye didn’t blink, staring straight through you, bloodshot and as raw as the heat behind his words. You could see the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, his jaw set so tightly it looked like his teeth might crack under the pressure.

“She started it,” you shot back, the heat in your voice matching his. “Maybe if you didn’t constantly coddle her, she wouldn’t act like a damn child every time something doesn’t go her way!”

Wrong thing to say. His hand slammed down onto the desk with enough force to rattle the pen holder, sending one of the papers fluttering to the floor. "Coddle?" He hissed, drawing the word out like a blade. "You know nothing about what that girl has been through. What I’ve done to keep her alive. She’s not a child; she’s the only one in this godforsaken hole who understands what I’m fighting for!".

“She’s reckless, Silco! Dangerous! You think she’s your weapon, your legacy—hell, even your daughter—but she’s not. She’s a loose cannon, and one of these days, she’s going to take this whole damn operation down with her!”

The slap came faster than you could process. His palm stung against your cheek, not as much from strength but from sheer shock. It was sharp, deliberate, and almost precise—like everything Silco did.