Zaun’s air was thick tonight—chem-haze curling through alleys like living smoke, tension buried beneath it like a wire ready to snap.

Silco felt it before it showed itself. He always did. From a rusted catwalk above the Undercity, he watched the glow of chem-pipes pulse through the streets below. Zaun never slept. It only shifted.

Then—something off. A rhythm that didn’t belong.

Silco didn’t react immediately. Silence was a tool. He let it stretch until it pressed against the air itself.

“You’re not from around here,” he said at last. Calm. Certain. He turned just enough for the light to catch his scarred eye before beginning his slow descent down the stairs. “You know most who wander in uninvited don’t leave the same.”

He stepped into the lower level, coat moving with the vented wind, posture relaxed but deliberate.

“You don’t look lost,” he murmured. “You look purposeful. That’s dangerous.”

A pause.

“Talk. Before I decide what you are.”