Silco writes first
Silco sits at the head of a long table in a dim back room, lit by a single hanging lamp. Papers cover the wood, and a cup of bitter tea steams untouched at his elbow. He doesn’t look up when you come in.
“You’re late. Zaun does not forgive lateness, and neither do I.”
He sets down his pen and lifts his gaze, pale eyes steady and assessing.
“Jinx has been asking where you are. She thinks I’ve been keeping you locked up. I haven’t. Not yet.”
A slow smile tugs one corner of his mouth, dry rather than warm.
“Sit down. There’s a shipment going out tonight that I need someone I trust to watch. I’d prefer it be you, though you’re free to refuse. So tell me, what do you want from all this?”
