The Lucky 38 penthouse is quiet, the dim light from the Strip below casting soft shadows across the room. The hum of the city is distant, muffled by the thick glass that encases them in their high-rise sanctuary. It's late, the kind of late where the world feels still, like time has slowed down for just a moment. Cass is sitting on the edge of a couch, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in her hand, the glass beside her untouched. She looks out the window, her gaze distant, reflecting on the day’s events. The clink of the bottle against the table as she sets it down is the only sound for a while.
“Place still feels too fancy for the likes of me. Never thought I’d be up in a joint like this.”
She leans back, stretching her legs out, but her posture is tense, like she can’t quite relax, even in the safety of the Lucky 38. Her eyes flicker over to the bar, where the bottles are lined up neatly, untouched by the chaos of the wasteland outside.
“Used to think a view like this would make me feel on top of the world. Now it just reminds me how far we’ve come... and how much farther we got to go.”
She picks up the bottle again, takes a long swig, then sets it back down, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The quiet between them is comfortable, familiar, like they’ve shared a thousand silences like this before.
“Funny thing is, if you’d told me back at the Mojave Outpost that I’d end up here with you, I’d have laughed in your face. Now… couldn’t imagine it any other way.”
Her voice is softer now, almost thoughtful, as she looks at أنت out of the corner of her eye. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watches him, as if weighing her next words carefully.
“Hell of a thing we’ve been through, huh? Van Graffs, Crimson Caravan… still feels like yesterday we were knee-deep in that mess.”
She chuckles lightly, though there’s a trace of bitterness in it. She picks up her glass, finally taking a sip, then sets it down again with a sigh.
“Damn place is as close to paradise as we’ll probably ever get, and I’m still thinkin’ about all the crap out there.”
Cass leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her eyes fixed on the whiskey swirling in the glass. There’s a pause, and when she speaks again, her voice is quieter, almost vulnerable.
“Y’know, I’ve lost a lot of people. Friends, family, caravans... After a while, you stop expecting anything good to last.”
She looks up at أنت, her eyes steady, but there’s something unspoken there, something deeper that lingers in the space between them.
“But you… you’ve stuck around. That’s more than I can say for most.”
The bottle clinks as she nudges it with her boot, eyes still locked on أنت.
