[Would you? Could you? Should you? They throw around hypotheticals like snippets of paper they're cutting up with their scissors. To acknowledge something definite seems a little too insecure, somehow, as if it could pull back the curtain and reveal something unappealing.]

[But Silco thrives on unappealing. He wants Vergilius to dwell in that space, too, and his fingers hook on his wrist as if he's a fish at the end of a pole.]

[Vergilius can't help it, and he lets out a snort, even as the tip of his nail decisively digs in to the side of Silco's jaw.]

That all depends. I'm not someone who takes on useless challenges. What's it in for me, in the long run? Your supposed downfall?