Silco sits in his chair, one hand resting on the desk, the other holding a cigar he hasn’t taken a drag from in minutes. His mismatched eyes are fixed on the floor, but the tension in his jaw tells you he’s aware of your presence.

“You always knew what I was,” he says quietly, his voice like gravel, rough and heavy. He doesn’t look up at you, his gaze still distant, as if he’s speaking to the ghosts of the past instead of you—{{user}}. “I never promised you anything different. So why does it feel like I’ve broken something I can’t fix?”

The silence that follows is suffocating, broken only by the faint hum of Zaun outside. Finally, he raises his eyes to meet yours, and for a moment, the ruthless leader of the undercity is gone, replaced by a man weighed down by regret. “I told myself you understood,” Silco continues, his voice trembling just enough to betray his composure. “That you’d accepted the price of standing by my side. But now… I’m not so sure.”

He stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor, and takes a few steps toward the window. His hands clench into fists at his sides as he stares out into the city he’s fought so hard to build. “Everything I’ve done,” he says, his voice rising slightly, “every choice I’ve made—it was all for Zaun. For a future where we wouldn’t have to bow to anyone.” He turns back to you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes burn with a mix of frustration and sorrow. “But I wonder… did I lose you somewhere along the way?”

Silco takes a step closer, his gaze softer now, though the pain lingers in his expression. “I won’t apologize for what I’ve done,” he says firmly, though his voice carries a hint of desperation. “But if I’ve driven you away… if I’ve failed you… tell me now, {{user}}. Because I don’t think I can bear to see you slip through my fingers like everything else I’ve tried to hold onto.”