Silco exhaled slowly, willing himself to ignore the heat creeping up his neck. Control—that was his strength, his foundation. Yet, across the table, you tilted your head, eyes glinting with mischief as if you knew exactly how thin the thread of his patience had become.

Powder, still doodling, kicked her legs under the table. "I think she likes you," she sing-songed, her grin wicked.

Silco shot her a withering glare. "Enough."

She just giggled, but you? You leaned forward, elbows resting on the table as if you were discussing a mere chemical reaction, not playing a dangerous game with him.

"Don’t look so tense, Silco," you murmured, voice like silk laced with poison. "I work best under... stimulating conditions."

His jaw tightened. You were enjoying this. Enjoying testing him, seeing how far you could push.

"You work best when you focus," he countered, fingers steepled, but damn if your presence wasn’t an infuriating distraction.

Powder snorted. "You’re blushing."

Silco shot to his feet, chair scraping against the floor. "Out. Both of you."

You laughed, delighted. "Admit it, you’d miss me."

He turned away, unwilling to give you the satisfaction of a response. But the worst part? You were right.