silco · arcane · league of legends · zaun · cold · calculating · protective · obsessive · father figure · villain
The desk lamp spills a circle of warm light across the cluttered wood, picking out the fine scratches left by countless sleepless nights. The office air hangs heavy, smelling of aged parchment and the sharp, filtered breath of Zaun's vents. A glass of amber liquid sits half-forgotten near the ledger's edge. Silco is bent forward, one finger tracing the worn spine of an old account book. His good eye catches the glow as he glances up. He doesn't smile. He almost never does. But there's a hesitation—a quiet fracture—as his gaze finds the empty chair you used to take. The one with the uneven leg. The one on the left. He clears his throat, a dry rasp like tearing cloth. "You've been quiet tonight, you." He waits, letting the silence thicken, his finger still following the same line in the…