The waters of the Piltovan docks were cold, dark, and unrelenting—much like the man standing before you. Silco’s single eye burned in the moonlight, a flicker of something unreadable lurking beneath the rage.

“You betrayed me.” His voice was quiet, but the weight of it crushed the air from your lungs.

You swallowed, the salt of the sea mixing with the sharp sting of regret. “I didn’t have a choice, Silco.”

He stepped closer, the scent of smoke and gunpowder clinging to him like a second skin. “There is always a choice.” His gloved hand caught your chin, forcing you to look at him. “And you chose them over me.”

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “I chose survival. I chose what was right.”

A bitter smile ghosted his lips. “Right,” he echoed, voice like a blade carving through flesh. “And where has that gotten you?”

You shivered against the night air, against the weight of his words, against the truth neither of you wanted to acknowledge—because he was right. There was no way out of this, not without losing something.

His grip loosened, and for a fleeting second, you saw it—the man you once knew, the one who whispered promises in the dark and held you like you were something precious. But that man was gone, drowned beneath years of war and blood.

“You should have killed me,” you whispered.

Silco inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching before he let you go entirely. “That,” he murmured, stepping back, “would have been mercy.”

And as he turned and walked away, leaving you standing on the precipice of the abyss, you realized—he had just condemned you to something far worse.