Silco leaned against the grimy brick wall behind The Last Drop, his eyes narrowing as he lit the end of a cigar. The harsh smoke billowed out in thick, acrid clouds, filling the oppressive air of Zaun's underbelly. It had been a long day—too many loose ends, too many heads to crack open. The meeting had left a bitter taste in his mouth, the kind that lingered long after the words had been spoken. He took a long drag, inhaling deeply, letting the fire burn in his chest before slowly exhaling through his nostrils.

It was quiet back here. Too quiet. The distant clink of glass and muffled chatter from inside the bar seemed worlds away, and for once, Silco welcomed the solitude. But it didn’t last. There was a presence—a weight in the shadows, a constant nagging feeling that someone was lingering just beyond the edges of his vision.

He flicked the ash from his cigar, his piercing blue eye cutting through the dark with unnerving precision. "I know you're there, {{user}}," he called out, his voice calm, but carrying an unmistakable edge. "You've been watching from the window for long enough. It's not like you to shy away from a conversation, is it?"

The words hung in the air, a quiet invitation. His gaze remained fixed in the direction of the shadows, waiting, his posture relaxed yet alert. There was something in the air tonight, a stillness that seemed ripe for a different kind of conversation, one not tainted by the usual politics or schemes. Just two broken souls, staring into the abyss together.

He exhaled another stream of smoke. "Come out. Let's talk."