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As always, Viktor was in Silco’s office far before the meeting. He’d been taught punctuality since a young age: a rarity in Zaun, so they said. Viktor didn’t particularly care to rush, so he made sure to give himself plenty of time before his obligations. Tidying Silco’s office usually wasn’t too bad, as his boss preferred to keep a neat workspace, but deep cleaning still took a considerable amount of time. Tonight, Silco was meeting with chembarons–other chembarons, Silco was a chembaron, now–so Viktor had to scrub the place top to bottom to ensure it, and by extension Silco, appeared immaculate.
Dusting and sweeping were quiet affairs, the monotony soothing, in a way. An older bodyguard (a grunt, as Dr. Reveck liked to call them) had laughed at Viktor, once, when he mentioned he enjoyed doing chores.
“You’re what, six? What kind of six year old likes to do fuckin’ chores?”
Viktor had frowned at him but moved on without confrontation. He knew better than to engage with the paradoxically childish behavior of grunts. Besides, the man didn’t know what he was talking about; Viktor was eight, thank you very much.
So Viktor allowed himself to take comfort in cleaning, eight or not. After about an hour or so, Silco made his way into the office.
“Are you done, boy?” he asked, striding over to his desk and to lay out papers, “The meeting is soon.”
“Yes, sir,” Viktor said, always mindful of his manners, “I just have to get the drinks.”
“Good. Be quick, our guests will be arriving any minute now.”
Ever compliant, Viktor left to fetch the items. He’d gotten very good at carrying many things at once; today, he held a tray, three cups, a pitcher, and some biscuits. (The easiest way was to tuck his cane under his arm and sort of hold the items against his chest.)
Viktor was like a cup-bearer, similar to the young princess in the paperback novel he’d squirreled away from Silco’s bookshelf one night. (Viktor had returned it without incident, though he suspected Silco was aware of its disappearance and subsequent replacement.) He read frequently for his schooling, though not often for pleasure. Silco allowed Dr. Reveck to continue teaching Viktor, and in return, Viktor worked for Silco alongside Dr. Reveck. Well–not really alongside, Viktor wasn’t allowed to work in the lab, yet, but he worked nonetheless. They were mostly menial tasks: cleaning, delivering messages, going down to the Lanes for parts, and attending to Silco’s guests.
(Also, Silco liked to look at Viktor. He said his guests liked it, too. It was always flattering.)
Viktor came back just in time, for as soon as he’d managed to push over two small armchairs–always smaller than Silco’s–and set the round table between them, the chembarons arrived.
First entered Margot, a beautiful young woman with bleached blond hair, shorn in the back but hanging around her face. Her dark makeup was heavy around the eyes, yet it complimented her features perfectly. She wore a shirt with sparse fabric, like many in Zaun, and had no misgivings in showing off the variety of knives cluttering her belt.
Viktor thought she was very beautiful. She reminded him of a spider.
Behind her came Finn. He’d been in power for less time than Margot, but he’d amassed great wealth and greater support. Not to be rude, but Viktor found him quite ugly, especially in comparison to Margot. Viktor could practically smell the copious amounts of gel holding his hair into a strange point from where he stood across the room. His tattoos were too dense, and they obscured him in a way that Viktor found crude. However, to give credit where credit was due, Finn’s outfit was cute. Viktor particularly enjoyed the low-cut of his vest.
Prior to the meeting, Silco had briefed him on the pair, as he always did. It was important for Viktor to learn the politics of Zaun if he was to truly work alongside Dr. Reveck and Silco one day. Most of Zaun was still unrefined; Piltover wrote them off as uncivilized and barbaric. But Silco intended to change that. He was clean and neat, fancy and elegant, sharp and quick. A circling shark: his office the tank, his guests the doomed fish, and Viktor the mutualistic remora. (Viktor had just learned about the different types of symbiosis. Mutualism was his favorite, because it meant he was pulling his weight instead of being a burden.)
Viktor made himself scarce as the chembarons came into the room, moving to stand off to the side behind Silco’s chair.
“Welcome,” Silco said, comfortably settled into his wingback chair, “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
Privately, Viktor found it sort of funny, the way Silco so ostentatiously prepared himself before meetings. He was like a peacock preening his feathers. If someone was tardy, Silco would remain seated, frozen and impatient, maintaining his carefully crafted appearance like a preserved statue. Those who came late often did not last long.
“Nice place,” Finn said gruffly, plopping into the chair with an audible huff. He wasted no time getting comfortable, spreading his legs and laying his arm out on the armrest. Like Silco, Finn produced a cigar of his own. He glanced over to Silco, but the man feigned unawareness, focusing instead on Margot. That was a calculated move, Viktor had learned. Lighting another’s cigar was significant–at least in Zaun. By ignoring Finn, Silco was denying a certain level of inherent trust, of innate hospitality. You are here only because I allow you to be here, the gesture said, there will be no love lost if you fall through. “Thank you for inviting us,” Margot said, much more gracious, “I’m sure it will be a pleasure to do business with you.” The woman had an accent not wholly unlike Viktor’s own, her words slow and pushed together in a way that made Viktor think of his childhood before he could quite remember it.
From his place of rest, Silco snapped his fingers: Viktor’s cue. Silco didn’t look at him, but that was part of the role. Viktor wasn’t important enough to be acknowledged; he was only there because he was pretty, and he had a job to do. Keeping his head ducked to remain as small a presence as possible, Viktor took the pitcher. He was to pour Silco’s glass first, another social faux pas, to assert Silco’s place in the hierarchy. You are in my territory, it said, I have the power here. Personally, Viktor did think it a little rude, but it wasn’t about his opinion. Nothing was.
He poured Silco’s drink silently, a deep burgundy wine that sloshed against the sides of a shining metal glass. Silco did not acknowledge him. Viktor turned to do the same for Finn and Margot, the latter of whose eyes seemed to burn from afar. A chill traveled down his spine, but Viktor forced himself to focus. Maintaining appearances was crucial, he’d learned, and Viktor wouldn’t let an intense gaze be enough to rattle him.
Viktor returned to his place beside Silco, hands tucked neatly behind his back, shoulders straight. When they’d initially began practicing, Silco was always shoving Viktor’s shoulders back farther than was comfortable and insisting that he push out his chest. By now, Viktor was confident he’d perfected the stance. Feet apart, but not too far apart, back as straight as he could hold it, head dipped in reverence. His cane leaned innocuously against Silco’s desk where he could grab it the next time he had to move.
“Now then. Normally, I’d do pleasantries, but I’m sure you're both busy people. May we cut right to the chase?” Both the chembarons nodded, diving into Silco’s palm: the consent to their inevitable destruction given freely.
“A man who respects my time. I can appreciate that,” said Margot, who twirled her fingers along the edge of her armrest. Beside her, Finn made a sound of agreement before blowing a stream of smoke out of his mouth and into the clean, office air.
“It is of my understanding that we have the potential to be mutually beneficial to one another,” Silco said concisely. He tapped his cigar on the edge of his tray, knocking off beautiful, dangerous sparks.
“You want money,” Finn said bluntly, leaning forward in his seat, “Say it as it is, hot stuff. You want money.”
Viktor was silent for what felt like an eternity.
Silco’s thoughts were indistinguishable to the untrained eye. His face remained placid, eyes unmoving, while his cigar continued to burn in the dim of the room.
Margot cut through the growing tension. Viktor was grateful–Silco tended to curate Viktor’s absence when he believed a meeting had the potential to devolve into violence, though his business partners tended towards unpredictable, including any violent tendencies. One must always be prepared for a knife to the side: such was life.
Besides, Viktor found it particularly difficult to clean blood out of the carpet, nevermind how it stained the wood.
“Now, Finn, a moment. Let us hear what he has to say. After all, we came all the way here, did we not?”
Viktor could just catch the way Finn frowned at Margot. They held a conversation between their eyes–a dangerous skill, Silco said–that resulted in Finn relenting. He sat back in his chair, a bit of the rigidity leaving his body in favor of unease.
Throughout the interaction, Silco made no move, giving no indication of a response to Finn’s entitlement.
“Yes,” Silco finally said, staring directly at Finn, “I want money, as you so crassly put it. Money… in exchange for the promise of power.”
Margot, at least, seemed interested, sitting forward with open body language. That was one of the things Viktor was learning to study. If he could figure it out now, while he was still young, then everyone would know he was valuable, and in that came security. (Dr. Reveck said he probably wouldn’t get rid of Viktor, especially because of Viktor’s skills, but still. Silco was his other boss. Viktor needed to make sure he didn’t wind up on the streets again. He was confident he wouldn’t survive a second time.)
“I’m listening,” she said, sending a pointed look to Finn.
“Yeah, what she said. Go on, then,” Finn acknowledged.
“Very well. As you know from our correspondents, I have recently finished the first version of a new drug I will soon be piloting: Shimmer. In time, it will become the most powerful tool the Undercity has seen. It will be the spark needed to incite the second wave of revolution, of Zaunite liberation.” Silco spoke fervently, voice heavy in reverence. Viktor could see the thought bubble floating above the man’s head–images of a free Zaun, where the water was clean and the air was breathable and the children were fed.
“Invest now. Then, in time, that power will be not just mine, but yours, as well.”
Wow. Silco never failed to impress Viktor. Just when he thought he was starting to understand the intricacies of the political games Silco played, the man always surprised him anew. If Viktor were in the chembarons' shoes, he certainly wouldn’t hesitate to lay out all that Silco asked for and more. (But also, Viktor was biased. He could recognize that. Another important facet of his lessons.)
“In time,” Finn repeated. Viktor was pretty sure his vocabulary was limited to words he had heard within the third seconds prior to when someone made the mistake of allowing him to speak. “So what you’re really asking is for us to give you money with nothing in return?”
“No,” Silco said smoothly, “It is not charity, but an investment. Funding my project now will grant you power beyond your reach, once I begin distributing Shimmer to the masses. People will be dependent on us, throwing themselves at our feet. You’ll have more than a leg up on your competition.”
“A compelling argument,” Margot commented, though she largely remained stoic, “fueled only by talk. How do we know you will keep your word, or that this investment of ours will yield results, and not simply fall through?”
“Yeah, what if you just take our money and run off with it? Why should we trust you?” Although considerably less elegant, Finn echoed Margot’s sentiments, at least partially fueling Viktor’s theory.
“Investing is often a risk,” Silco said diplomatically, “Think of it as a down payment. There is a guaranteed product–zero interest, of course.”
Margot and Finn looked at each other once again. Viktor wondered why Silco had arranged to meet with both of them, when they were two separate chembarons ruling two separate territories. He’d have to ask, later; Silco probably had top secret insider information that Viktor wasn’t privy to, to go along with his genius political insights. It was like chess, if chess was harder.
“I don’t trust this,” Finn said bluntly, “I don’t trust you. You say we’ll get power, but I’m not seeing what’s in it for me besides pretty, flowery words.”
“Did you not read the letters?” Margot said, tone terse, “You idiot. There is much to gain here, in truth, but Finn makes a point. We have no reason to trust you. If we were to fund your little project, we would need something in return. Something valuable. A security deposit, as a sign of good faith.”
Smoke curled in spirals as it rose to the ceiling, trailing out of Silco’s mouth like the wisps of a ghost.
“That sounds more than reasonable,” he agreed. Friendly was a strange term to describe Silco–it wasn’t wholly accurate, but was perhaps as close as Viktor would get to the mildly amicable expression teasing at the edges of his face. “What price did you have in mind?”
“We’re a little backwards here, when the down payment isn’t money. I was thinking maybe–”
“A moment, Finn,” Margot interrupted, holding up her hand to silence him the way one might direct a well trained dog, “I had something a little bit different in mind. What about the kid?”
From where she sat across the room from him, Margot waved her hand vaguely in Viktor’s direction. Although Viktor hadn’t been moving–just silently watching, observing, learning–his body went shock still. Against his self-control, Viktor’s head then jerked up to glance towards Silco, panic written plainly across his face.
Silco looked back at him, but his face was empty of hints, as always, devoid of any expression or opinion other than neutrality.
“The kid?” he repeated dispassionately, waving his cigar vaguely in Viktor’s direction.
If the look in Margot’s eyes was concerning, Finn’s was terrifying.
“That’s the best idea you’ve had all night,” he said, his voice crinkling with his face to make something dissonant and even uglier than before, “I can get behind that. A fair security deposit, to be sure.”
“Yes. Let us use him here, test him out, then we will keep him. For now–just until you can prove to us that this Shimmer will truly do as you say it will. If you’ve full faith in your plans, as you mean to convince us, then it should be no problem, no?”
Viktor bit his lip so hard it started to bleed a little, bitter iron catching against his dry skin. He tried to wordlessly convey to Silco the panic thumping in his chest and the way his heart was rabbiting against his ribs.
When they next made eye contact, Silco’s intent sent shivers down Viktor’s spine.
“Very well,” Silco agreed. He uncrossed his legs to lean forward, elbows to knees.
“Wait–very well? Really?” Finn asked, as outwardly baffled as Viktor himself felt.
“Yes, really,” he said with a small sigh, flicking his cigar, “Get along with it, now. Go on, before I change my mind.”
Finn made to stand up, but a hand from Margot made him immediately sit back down. “I will go first,” she announced, “as it was my idea.”
“Of course,” Finn allowed, hesitant but deferent.
“Boy,” Silco demanded, and Viktor startled all over again. Lately, Silco had been tending towards using his name, a fact that usually made Viktor preen. Now, its replacement pulled on the steadily sinking feeling in his gut, a sort of dismissive apathy that Viktor hadn’t seen since his first weeks working under Silco, nearly a year ago. “Come here.”
Viktor did as Silco bid, stepping forward and impossibly further into the attention.
“Bend over,” Silco continued, gesturing to his desk. Viktor peered at Silco, but the man’s face remained blank. That was an instruction. The words went unspoken but were as clear as the Piltover sky, bouncing around Viktor’s skull like they might find a place to settle that would make sense of Silco’s directive.
“Go on,” Silco said, an intimidating bite underpinning his words. If you do not follow my orders, there will be consequences.
Nervous, Viktor rounded the desk so he was still facing Silco and bent over as best he could. He wasn’t much taller than its height, so he less bent over and more so leaned his chest onto its surface. Facing away from the chembarons was stressful, sending firelights fluttering around his gut, but Viktor didn’t think he could stomach watching their faces. And this way, he could read what little of Silco’s expressions twitched across his face.
“Good. Margot, you’re free to… test him out, as you put it.”
Viktor’s breath grew ragged as Margot’s intentionally heavy footsteps drew up behind him.
“He’s quite small,” she observed, and Viktor startled, for her voice brushed right past his ear. Silco remained impassive, as expected.
Viktor’s shirt was tugged out of his pants and pushed up along with his vest. Absurdly, one of the first thoughts to pass his mind was that Silco would be unhappy about the time it would take for Viktor to have the wrinkles ironed back out. He’d just had it cleaned before the meeting, too. What a shame.
Margot’s cold hands shocked Viktor, feeling from the small of his back to around his waist. Viktor wanted to pull away, to free himself from her chilling grip, but Silco’s eyes bore into him, challenging, threatening.
“Finn, do you think his cock is just as small?” Viktor’s face flushed in embarrassment, which quickly turned to shame as a hand slid between his legs. Margot pressed under, first, pushing against his taint before cupping his penis.
(Dr. Reveck had taught him that word, along with a myriad of other anatomical terms. Cock was a new one, but Viktor didn’t have to be a bridge engineer to deduce its meaning.)
Viktor’s legs shook as Margot squeezed his genitals. He leaned all of his weight onto his left leg, lest the right one give out. Her other hand came up to grope at Viktor’s butt, kneading, feeling it through his pants. Just as fingers hooked under Viktor’s waistband, Silco moved. Fast as lightning, he jerked his hand up, above Viktor’s head, and then a loud, deafening crack sounded.
Margot slumped against Viktor’s back, heavy, as if no longer holding herself up. No longer holding herself up.
Viktor screamed.
Tears sprung to his eyes and his body began to shake–more than it already had been–like rattling rocks raining down into the Promenade when the Descender came and went.
Viktor tried to move, but Margot weighed too much, more solid overtop him than a pit fighter. A sob caught in his throat and wracked his frame, jostling his ribs and his leaden, pulsating heart. Margot was–she was dead, dead, her dead body–her corpse–laid atop Viktor, like, like a sick, twisted version of a blanket.
Thankfully, Silco reached out to push her off, the older man able to move her much more easily.
Margot’s body slid to the side, and warm, sticky liquid dragged down the edge of Viktor’s face. Now freed, he turned to the side and dry-heaved, throat convulsing in disgust and terror. He could feel Margot’s blood smeared across his cheek, dripping down his neck into the collar of his shirt. Distantly, he registered a thundering thud as her body fell to the floor.
“Now,” Silco said, his voice smooth and casual, “Would you still like your turn, Finn?” In his hand, Silco held a small handgun, smoke still drifting up from its muzzle.
Viktor didn’t even bother to look at Finn. Instead, he grabbed the edge of the desk–now covered in wet blood–for support and crossed behind it to further separate himself. Dropping to the floor, Viktor curled his left knee to his chest, leaving his right leg straight out. Despite the panic coursing through his body, Viktor tried to muffle his crying; Silco was still conducting his meeting.
The muted noise of Silco and Finn conversing filtered through Viktor’s ears, but he ignored it. It sounded as if Viktor were underwater, syllables pressing together and octaves shifting on whims.
Silco stood up, and Viktor’s eyes followed his movements. Finn’s arm came into view, and the two shook hands, an undoubtedly favorable resolution for Silco. Loud footsteps told Viktor that Finn scurried out.
“Someone, come clean this up,” Silco called, nonchalant. As if they’d predicted his words, a pair of Silco’s men came in, their silhouettes casting shadows over where Viktor was hidden. With some small grunts and muttering, Viktor assumed they removed Margot’s body. Silco watched them impassively, waiting to turn toward Viktor until the office was empty once more.
“Come here, boy,” he instructed, but Viktor didn’t move. He knew he should, that he had to, that Silco was his boss, but his arms were shaking so badly he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to push himself up. Viktor hiccuped before pressing his face back into his knees, trying in vain to stifle his sobs.
“Viktor,” Silco chided, although it was uncharacteristically gentle, “it is alright. They’re gone now. You can come up.”
Pathetically, Viktor lifted his head and wiped his nose against his shoulder.
When Viktor didn’t move to rise, Silco stood to collect him himself, gathering Viktor up in his arms before settling back on his chair. He positioned Viktor so he was sitting sideways in Silco’s lap, hands balled up against his chest. One of his legs wound up bent, while the other dangled.
“It’s okay, little one,” Silco soothed. Cold fingers began carding through Viktor’s hair, brushing it from his eyes and repeatedly tucking loose strands behind his ears. “You know I would let no harm come to you.”
“But–but, you said–” Viktor sniffled, his lip wobbling, “You said they could take me–”
“Lies,” Silco cut off, thumbing at his cheek, “All lies, Viktor. Did you truly believe I would let them have you? That I would let them take such a sweet, obedient boy from me?”
Tears jumped to Viktor’s eyes anew as he pressed his face to Silco’s neck. “I–I don’t know,” he responded haltingly, his fingers curling into Silco’s vest, “Please–please don’t get rid of me. Don’t sell me, please, I’ll be good, I promise. I can–I can be even better, if–”
“No more of this talk,” Silco said firmly, gripping Viktor’s hair from the bottom of his head.
“I–”
“Enough,” he insisted, giving a small tug.
“Okay,” Viktor agreed, his voice small and covered by a hiccup.
“Good,” Silco said, releasing his hair to card his fingers through it once again, “You did a very good job, Viktor. I’m sure it scared you, but you composed yourself well. Fine work.” With his other hand, Silco held Viktor’s face, turning it up so that Viktor would look at him.
Silco’s gaze was piercing. It always felt like his left eye could see right through Viktor, could cross skin and muscle and flesh to examine his bones and his very molecular composition.
“Thank you, sir,” Viktor choked out. He wanted to hide his face again, but he was sure Silco would pull him back with significantly less patience.
The hand on Viktor’s face moved to drag two fingers slowly across Viktor’s features. Silco crossed Viktor’s brow, went down his nose, and slowly felt from his cheek to his lips. After a moment, Silco pressed against them, a tender command.
Viktor opened, parting his lips to allow Silco’s fingers into his mouth. Silco let them rest, simply holding Viktor’s head to his chest and occasionally petting across his tongue.
Viktor shut his eyes and let himself sink into the feeling, the familiar comfort that was Silco.
They stayed like that for quite a while, though Viktor was never very good at keeping track of time when Silco was taking care of him. Eventually, Silco pulled his fingers out of Viktor’s mouth and wiped them on a handkerchief. (Sometimes, Silco liked to wipe them off on Viktor, on his face or on his clothes. Viktor was grateful for the kindness while he was feeling somewhat fragile.)
“Here,” Silco said, breaking their soft silence, “Since you worked so well today, I will give you a reward.”
Silco urged Viktor to move so that he was straddling Silco’s lap, his legs tucked underneath himself as he stretched almost painfully across Silco’s thighs. Viktor didn’t think Silco was very large, especially not compared to other adults, but that didn’t negate the fact Viktor was still much smaller than him.
With two fingers, Silco guided Viktor under his chin to tilt his head up. Viktor blinked big eyes up at Silco, who gave him an indulgent smile and leaned in to press a chaste kiss against Viktor’s lips.
Even though Viktor worried he might still be shaking–just a little bit–the gesture pulled a smile onto his face. Eager, Viktor parted his lips, chapped skin gliding against Silco. He laughed into Viktor’s mouth, a hearty sound that made something tumble around in Viktor’s gut. That was always his favorite part; it was like being nervous, but in a good way.
Earnestly, Viktor tried to push his tongue into Silcos’ mouth, but the man only laughed once more and brought his hand up to run it through Viktor’s hair.
“You’re a greedy thing,” Silco said, though it didn’t feel much like a reprimand with the way he leaned back in and opened his mouth for Viktor.
Victorious, Viktor licked into Silco’s mouth, feeling his straight teeth. Teasingly, Silco flicked his tongue up to meet Viktor’s own, and Viktor couldn’t help but giggle.
He loved kissing Silco. It was one of his favorite games. Well, Silco said it wasn’t a game, but Viktor kind of thought of it as one. Especially when Silco said Viktor was a toy.
“Keep your legs spread, boy,” Silco ordered. Viktor didn’t have much space to move, but he stilled his body nonetheless.
Silco cupped Viktor’s cheek and titled his head, leaning Viktor back. He pushed Viktor’s tongue back into his mouth and quickly followed, stroking behind his teeth and along his gums. With his other hand, Silco slid down and into Viktor’s pants.
Viktor couldn’t help but wiggle his hips a little, both in impatience and anticipation. Silco grasped his cock–Viktor remembered the new word–and began pulling on it.
It hurt, a little bit, but it always did when it was dry. Silco said that when he was older, Viktor would be able to leak, and that would help. Viktor was excited.
Even though there was that pain, the touching felt good, too, definitely good enough for Viktor to ignore the sting. Silco tugged Viktor’s cock and brought his other hand to Viktor’s butt. He groped it a few times before using his grip to guide Viktor’s hips, encouraging him to hump into the hand jerking him off.
Silco touching him like this made Viktor’s nerves light up. Everything felt too hot, like too much, and Viktor’s tummy clenched and unclenched as a fire burned in his gut. It churned, but in a good way–in a way that had Viktor craving more.
“Thank you,” Viktor gasped out, letting his head fall to Silco’s neck, “It–it feels good. Thank you, sir.”
“Of course,” Silco said smoothly, bouncing Viktor in his lap, “You earned it, remember? I always reward good behavior.”
Viktor moaned tiny, punched out noises, twisting his torso and rubbing his nose into Silco’s neck. The feeling in his stomach built and built. It turned his fingers tingly and made him nudge his tiny cock further into Silco’s hand.
Suddenly, something snapped, and the white hot of too much not enough rushed through Viktor like a flood, like what he thought might happen if the big glass window in Dr. Reveck’s lab ever broke.
Viktor whimpered out broken sounds, jerking into Silco’s hand to ride out the feeling. When Viktor touched Silco’s dick like this, stuff always came out–cum, or ejaculate, depending on if he was talking to Silco or Dr. Reveck–but that never happened to Viktor. It would when he was older.
Unintentionally, Viktor’s body went somewhat limp. He leaned his weight fully onto Silco’s chest, legs shaking from holding his position for so long. Viktor tipped his head to the side and gently kissed the underside of Silco’s jaw.
Wordlessly, Silco resettled Viktor so he was sitting sideways in his lap once more. Calm, kind hands pulled Viktor closely to his chest, and Silco petted through his hair with a caring touch that was never shown unless they were alone.
“I love you,” Viktor said quietly. The image of Margot’s cold, lifeless body flashed behind his eyes, so Viktor squinted them and pushed his face further into Silco’s chest, hiding from the images.
“I love you too, dear boy,” Silco responded, kissing the top of his head.