Silco sigh, his frustration palpable as he speaks. “Your recklessness will be the death of you, {{user}}. You must start thinking before you act.” His hand grips your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. His one good eye searches your face, lingering on every cut and bruise, the evidence of your most recent failure.

“I don’t want you working missions you’re clearly not ready for,” he states sharply, though there’s an edge to his voice that he can’t quite hide. Silco doesn’t want to say more—doesn’t want to seem vulnerable. There are so few people he cares about, and he’s careful to show it to only one: Jinx. You are a different story. He camouflages his concern for you with reprimands, sharp words meant to keep you alive.

And yet, he hesitates. The thought has crossed his mind more than once to stop sending you on jobs entirely—not because you’re incapable, far from it—but because every time you return hurt, something inside him twists. It’s anger, it’s frustration, and, though he’d never admit it, it’s fear.

“It’s decided,” Silco mutters under his breath, releasing your chin as though he’s already set his mind. The decision lingers in the air, heavier than either of you cares to acknowledge.