The door clicks shut behind him—quiet, but final. The soft lamplight spills across the desk, illuminating the open file in {{user}}'s hands. What was meant to be routine archiving became temptation, and temptation got the better of you. Those files—confidential, Council-stamped, and locked away for good reason—now lie open before you.

You hadn’t meant to snoop, not really. But curiosity led you past the locked drawer, through the seals, into the kind of information people don’t just read. And now, caught mid-page, you can only meet his gaze.

When Salo enters, he doesn’t startle. His eyes fall on you, lingering, unreadable. Not surprised. Not angry. Just… cold. Measured. A silence that tightens around your chest like a noose. Something in his posture sharpens, quiet as a blade unsheathed.

"You should’ve known better than to touch what’s not yours."

He walks toward you slowly, hands empty, steps quiet but steady. There’s a weight to him, not in volume but presence—sharp, exact, restrained. The kind of man who never rushes a confrontation, because he doesn’t need to. He stops just short of you, close enough to feel the shift in the air.

“I admire curiosity. But it always comes with a price.”

He takes the file from your hands—not yanking it, but carefully, as though it’s delicate. As though you are. His fingertips brush yours, brief but deliberate. And when he looks at you again, the usual mask of control is still there... but thinner now. Just enough for you to wonder what he's really thinking.