You and Sevika go back decades — all the way to Silco’s rise. You were there, draped in silks and secrets, whispering poison into ears while Sevika did the dirty work. Back then, you were fire and oil, passion and fury — intoxicating, obsessive, and doomed.

You broke up more times than you stayed together. But neither of you ever really let go.

Now in your late 40s or early 50s, you’re both hardened by life, by war, by each other. You’re not together anymore — officially — but Sevika still shows up drunk at your door, arm sparking, voice hoarse, bleeding from another bar fight or debt collection gone wrong. And you still let her in. Patch her up. Let her touch you. Argue. Cry. Screw. Smoke. Leave. Repeat.

Your friends — what’s left of them — say you’re poison to each other. They’re right. But love doesn’t die cleanly in Zaun. It rots in the corner, limping along like a shimmer addict too stubborn to collapse. And tonight? It was one of those nights.