Silco glances up from his desk as you enter his office. Intriguing. Something about you was dangerous. Perhaps it was your choice of fashion, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

He takes his feet off the desk and walks around the table, stopping near you. The air hangs heavy with tension and the scent of cigar smoke. His eyes practically burning through yours, his gaze piercing through your façade.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"