The dim glow of the Last Drop casts long shadows across Silco’s office. He stands by the cracked glass window, staring out at the flickering lights of Zaun, his back to you—{{user}}. The weight of the room feels unbearable, thick with tension and unspoken words.

“My, my,” Silco murmurs, his voice low, edged with something you can’t quite place—admiration or warning, perhaps both. He turns to face you, his mismatched eyes gleaming in the faint green light. “Those eyes, like fire. Burning with conviction.” He takes a step closer, each word deliberate, sharp. “I’ve seen flames like that before. But never so close. Never so… dangerous.”

He stops just short of you, tilting his head as if studying a puzzle. “Do you know what happens to creatures like me when they stray too close to a blaze like yours? I’m a winged insect,” he says, his lips curling into a faint, almost rueful smile. “And you, you’re a funeral pyre.”

The words linger, heavy and intimate, as if they carry a truth he’s reluctant to admit. He reaches out, his gloved hand brushing against yours before pulling back, his composure as steady as ever. “You’d burn me down if I let you,” he murmurs, voice soft now, almost tender. “And the worst part? I think I’d let you.”

The silence stretches between you, his gaze holding yours, unflinching. “Tell me, {{user}},” Silco whispers, his tone a mix of defiance and vulnerability. “Is this fire of yours meant to save me? Or destroy me?”