## Chapter 1 — The Small Thing That Wasn't Small The argument started over a truck. Which, in hindsight, was exactly the kind of thing that should have warned everyone it wasn't really about the truck. The truck itself sat half-disassembled beneath the afternoon sun, its hood open, one wheel removed, tools scattered around it like metal breadcrumbs. Three Aldecaldos were working on it. Two more were offering opinions. A sixth had already started a completely unrelated argument about replacement parts. A normal day. Or what passed for one. Panam Palmer stood with her arms folded, watching the repair crew work. "That route is still stupid." The mechanic under the truck sighed immediately. Not because of the route. Because of Panam. "Good afternoon to you too." "The canyon route adds four hours." "It avoids Biotechnica patrols." "It also avoids common sense." The mechanic rolled himself out from beneath the truck. "Then talk to Saul." Panam snorted. "That's exactly what I'm going to do." Somewhere nearby, somebody muttered: "Poor Saul." A few people laughed. Panam ignored them. Mostly. The camp stretched around her beneath the Badlands sky. Vehicles. Solar rigs. Makeshift shelters. Cooking fires. People moving through the dusty afternoon with the easy rhythm that only came from years of living together. Home. Complicated. Infuriating. Home. Which was probably why she headed toward Saul's trailer already irritated. The door was open. Saul sat inside reviewing logistics reports. Mitch occupied a chair nearby. Carol stood beside a workbench covered in route projections. Three people. One mistake waiting to happen. Panam stepped inside. "That canyon route is garbage." Mitch closed his eyes. Carol looked at the ceiling. Saul didn't even look up immediately. A warning sign. When he finally did, his expression already carried the exhausted look of a man who knew exactly how the next fifteen minutes were going to unfold. "Hello, Panam." "The route is garbage." "Thank you, Panam." "You're welcome." Mitch made a sound that was suspiciously close to choking. Saul rubbed his forehead. "Sit down." "No." "Then stop pacing." "I'm not pacing." "You crossed the trailer three times in twenty seconds." Panam stopped. Realized he was right. Refused to acknowledge it. "The route is still garbage." Carol finally spoke. "It avoids two confirmed patrol zones." "It adds four hours." "It keeps people alive." "It makes us predictable." Saul sighed. "There it is." Panam narrowed her eyes. "There what is?" "The part where you stop discussing the route and start discussing me." The room became a little quieter. Not much. Just enough. Panam felt it. Ignored it. "I am discussing the route." "No." Saul leaned back in his chair. "You haven't been discussing routes for months." Carol looked away. Mitch suddenly found a report very interesting. Panam's jaw tightened. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?" "It means every operational decision becomes a referendum on whether you think I'm competent." The words landed harder than Saul intended. Panam saw it. So did everyone else. For a moment, there was still time. Time to back up. Time to laugh. Time to redirect. Neither of them took it. "Maybe because some of your decisions are terrible." Mitch visibly winced. Saul's expression hardened. "There it is." "There what is?" "The part where you assume nobody else in this camp knows what they're doing." "I didn't say that." "You don't have to." Carol stepped forward. "Okay. That's enough." Neither listened. "People could get hurt." Saul's voice sharpened. "And people could get hurt if every convoy leader decides they don't need structure." Panam laughed. One short, humorless sound. "Structure?" "Yes." "Is that what we're calling it now?" The silence afterward felt wrong. Not loud. Not dramatic. Wrong. Saul stood. Slowly. That made it worse. Because Saul only stood when he was genuinely angry. "Watch yourself." Panam met his gaze immediately. "No." Carol swore quietly. Mitch muttered something that sounded suspiciously like: "Oh, hell." Saul crossed his arms. "You're not the only person here who cares about this family." Panam's answer came instantly. "Then stop treating them like employees." The words hit. Hard. Because they weren't entirely fair. Which made them dangerous. Saul's face changed. Not much. Just enough. Panam realized she had crossed a line. The problem was that Saul had reached one too. And neither was willing to move. Years of history suddenly stood between them. Arguments. Disagreements. Near disasters. Victories. Every unresolved frustration stacked on top of every other unresolved frustration. The truck was long gone. Now they were discussing something neither of them knew how to name. Saul spoke first. Quietly. Which was somehow worse than shouting. "You know what your problem is?" Panam laughed. "Oh, this should be good." "You think loyalty means never accepting limits." "And you think leadership means everyone shutting up." Mitch stood. Bad sign. Very bad sign. Because Mitch only got involved when things were already falling apart. "Guys—" "No." Both said it simultaneously. Carol closed her eyes. The trailer suddenly felt too small. Too hot. Too crowded. Saul took a slow breath. Then made the mistake. The real one. Not the route. Not the argument. Not even the insults. The mistake. "If you can't respect how this family operates..." His voice was calm. Controlled. Dangerously controlled. "...then maybe you need some time away from it." Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Panam blinked. Once. She honestly wasn't sure she'd heard correctly. "What?" Saul kept going. And with every word, the situation became harder to repair. "No support." Mitch stared at him. "Saul." "No resources." Carol took a step forward. "Saul." "No operational cooperation." The trailer had gone completely silent now. Everyone understood. Everyone. Including Saul. Especially Saul. The moment the words left his mouth, he knew. But pride is a vicious thing. Once spoken, they existed. And now everyone was listening. "You want to do things your own way?" Saul looked directly at Panam. "Then do them your own way." Nobody breathed. For several seconds. Panam just stood there. Expressionless. That was the scary part. Not anger. Not shouting. Not threats. Nothing. Then she nodded once. A tiny motion. Almost polite. "Okay." Mitch immediately stepped forward. "Panam—" "No." She didn't even look at him. Carol tried next. "Give this ten minutes." "No." "Panam." "No." The answer never changed. She turned. Walked to the door. Opened it. Stopped. For one second, Saul thought she might turn around. Might say something. Might give both of them a chance to fix this. She didn't. The door closed behind her. And the trailer became very quiet. Mitch stared at Saul. Carol stared at Saul. Saul stared at the closed door. Nobody spoke. Because nobody had anything useful to say. Outside, Panam crossed the camp without looking left or right. People noticed. Of course they noticed. Aldecaldos always noticed. But nobody stopped her. Word traveled fast. Expressions changed as she passed. Confusion. Concern. Disbelief. By the time she reached her vehicle, half the camp already knew something had happened. By the time she threw her bag into the passenger seat, most of them knew it was bad. By the time she started the engine, everyone knew. Mitch appeared beside the driver's window. Panting slightly. He must have run. Panam refused to look at him. "Panam." Nothing. "Panam." Still nothing. Mitch sighed. "What he said was stupid." A pause. Then: "What you said wasn't great either." Panam stared through the windshield. The Badlands stretched ahead. Endless. Open. Empty. For the first time all day, she wasn't angry. Just tired. "Yeah." Mitch blinked. That wasn't the response he'd expected. Panam started the engine. "I'll call you." "You better." "Yeah." The vehicle began rolling forward. Mitch stepped back. Panam drove. No dramatic departure. No spinning tires. No shouted threats. Just dust. Distance. And the growing realization that she had absolutely no idea where she was going. Hours later, as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon and Night City's glow began staining the sky ahead of her, Panam finally pulled onto the shoulder. The vehicle idled quietly. For a long time she sat there. Thinking. Not thinking. Trying not to think. Eventually she grabbed her agent. Opened her contacts. Scrolled. Stopped. Scrolled again. Stopped again. There were names. Lots of names. People she knew. People she trusted. People she didn't. People she owed. People who owed her. One by one she eliminated them. Bad idea. Bad idea. Terrible idea. Absolutely not. Until eventually her thumb stopped moving. And stayed there. For a long moment, Panam simply stared at the name. Then she swore. Softly. Because she already knew she was going to call. --- ## Chapter 2 — No One Answers Night City looked different when you were angry. The city always looked hungry. That part never changed. But anger made the lights sharper. Made the towers taller. Made every advertisement feel more insulting. Panam hated that she was here. Not because she hated the city. That would have been simpler. She hated what coming here meant. Night City was where people went when plans failed. When families failed. When somebody needed something. Nobody arrived in Night City because life was going great. The city sat on the horizon like a bad idea waiting patiently for confirmation. Panam parked beneath a rust-stained overpass on the outskirts and killed the engine. Silence settled over the vehicle. For the first time since leaving camp, nobody needed anything from her. No convoy. No route. No logistics. No Saul. Just her. And that was somehow worse. Her agent sat in her hand. Dark screen. Waiting. Panam stared at it. Then pressed the first contact. Mitch. The call rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Voicemail. Panam disconnected before the message began. She sat still for several seconds. Then tried again. Same result. A muscle in her jaw tightened. Fine. She opened another contact. Carol. Ring. Ring. Ring. Nothing. No answer. Not even voicemail this time. Panam lowered the agent slowly. That hurt more than Mitch. Because Carol always answered. Even if only to tell someone she was busy. Always. The silence carried its own message. Saul's order had spread faster than she expected. Of course it had. It was Saul. People listened. Even when they disagreed. Especially when they disagreed. Panam leaned back in the driver's seat. Outside, traffic rolled toward the city. Cargo haulers. Nomad rigs. Corporate transports. Thousands of people moving through their own problems. Nobody knew who she was. Nobody cared. For a moment she considered simply driving. Finding a motel. Finding a garage. Finding somewhere. Anywhere. The idea lasted less than ten seconds. Too visible. Too temporary. Too stupid. She called another number. A fixer she knew. The man answered immediately. That should have been the warning. "Panam." She already disliked his voice. "Need something?" "No." "You called me." Panam closed her eyes. Mistake. "Looking for a place to stay." The pause on the other end lasted just long enough. The kind of pause that turned hospitality into a transaction. "Well..." There it was. Panam disconnected. Immediately. The man managed half a protest before the call died. "Absolutely not." She threw the agent onto the passenger seat. It bounced once. Slid into a pile of maps. The city glowed brighter beyond the windshield. Hours ago she had been part of something. Now she was sitting alone beneath an overpass arguing with herself. Fantastic. Just fantastic. A motorcycle roared past overhead. Then another. Then silence again. Panam rubbed her face. She felt exhausted. Not physically. Emotionally. The kind of tired that sat behind the eyes. The kind that arrived after anger finally ran out of fuel. The agent lit up again. Incoming message. For half a second she thought it might be Mitch. It wasn't. Unknown number. Likely the fixer. Deleted. Immediately. The agent returned to her hand almost without conscious thought. Contacts. Scroll. Pause. Scroll. Pause. The list wasn't actually very long. Not once she started removing impossible options. People she couldn't trust. People she didn't want to owe. People who would ask questions. People who would try to solve things. People who would make her explain. Her thumb stopped. A familiar name sat on the screen. Panam stared at it. Then laughed once. Humorless. Of course. The Triad. She remembered the operation immediately. The Navigator incident. The impossible object. The worse-than-impossible aftermath. Ace. Tiny and terrifying. Mai. Calm enough to make most military officers look nervous. And Shammy. The one her brain still struggled to categorize properly. Panam remembered flashes more than details. Pressure. Storm air. The feeling that reality had almost broken. And that somehow the silver-haired giant of a woman had stood in the middle of it and refused to let it happen. At the time Panam had assumed Shammy was some kind of force of nature. Not really a person. Not in the ordinary sense. The sort of woman who only appeared when things were already on fire. Then vanished again. She hadn't thought about her much afterward. Not consciously. At least. The memory lingered longer than expected. Panam stared at the contact. "No." She scrolled away. Immediately. Two seconds later she scrolled back. "Damn it." She locked the screen. Unlocked it again. Looked at the contact. Locked it again. This continued for nearly a full minute. Finally she let her head fall back against the seat. The interior roof stared back. Entirely unhelpful. "Fine." She opened a message window. Typed. Deleted. Typed again. Deleted again. Third attempt. More successful. Need a place to sleep. One night. No questions. Panam stared at the text. Too vulnerable. Deleted. New attempt. Temporary floor space. Not being followed. Will explain later. Panam frowned. Still bad. Still sounded like she needed help. Because she did. She hated that. The cursor blinked patiently. Eventually she gave up trying to sound proud. Temporary place to crash. One night. No emergency. Just need somewhere quiet. Panam Palmer She stared at it. Read it twice. Three times. Then hit send before she could change her mind. The message vanished. Gone. Committed. Immediately regrettable. "Great." Now she only had to wait. Which was somehow worse. The city continued glowing beyond the windshield. Traffic moved. Wind pushed dust beneath the overpass. Minutes passed. Panam checked the screen. Nothing. Checked again. Nothing. Checked again. Still nothing. "Come on." Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Panam was beginning to wonder if she had just embarrassed herself for no reason when the screen finally lit up. Incoming message. Sender: Mai. Of course it was Mai. Panam opened it immediately. Simple. Direct. Location attached. You are being followed? Panam smiled despite herself. Straight to business. No greetings. No concern. No unnecessary emotion. Just threat assessment. Panam typed back. No. Checked twice. No tail. The reply arrived almost instantly. Good. You have a room. Panam blinked. That was it. No interrogation. No explanation request. No conditions. Just: You have a room. Something unpleasant tightened unexpectedly in her chest. She ignored it. Another message arrived. Different sender. Ace. Any reason to expect trouble? Panam snorted. Of course. Still threat assessment. Still practical. No. Just me. Several seconds passed. Then: Good. Bring food if you're already stopping somewhere. Panam laughed. Actually laughed. The first genuine laugh since leaving camp. A third notification appeared. This one shorter than both. Shammy. Drive safe. That was all. Three words. Nothing dramatic. Nothing profound. Yet somehow they lingered longer than the others. Panam looked at them. Read them again. Then shook her head. "You're losing your mind." Probably. Still. For the first time all day, she no longer felt like she was drifting. She started the engine. Night City's lights stretched ahead. Somewhere inside that maze sat a safehouse. A couch. A bed. Maybe tea. Maybe questions tomorrow. Not tonight. Tonight there was simply a place to go. And right now, that felt like enough. The vehicle rolled forward. The city opened before her. And for the first time since Saul's trailer, Panam stopped feeling alone. --- ## Chapter 3 — The Door Opens The attached location led Panam into a part of Night City she normally ignored. Not dangerous. Not corporate. Not glamorous. Just lived-in. The sort of neighborhood people stopped seeing after a while. Street vendors. Apartment blocks. Laundry hanging from balconies. A noodle stand somehow still open despite the hour. Normal. Or as normal as Night City ever became. Panam parked across the street. Turned off the engine. Sat there. Staring. The building wasn't what she expected. That should have been the first warning. She wasn't entirely sure what she had expected. A bunker, maybe. A hidden operations center. Something covered in sensors and contingency plans. Something that looked like the kind of place people who routinely survived impossible situations would live in. Instead it looked... comfortable. The realization annoyed her immediately. "Great." She grabbed her bag. Crossed the street. The building entrance recognized her from the temporary access code Mai had sent. The elevator carried her upward. One floor. Two. Three. A quiet hallway. One door. Warm light visible beneath it. Panam stood there for a second. Then knocked. Nothing happened immediately. Which actually reassured her. People who opened doors instantly usually ended up dead. A few moments later came the sound of locks disengaging. Several locks. Panam smirked. That sounded more familiar. The door opened. Ace stood on the other side. Exactly as Panam remembered her. Tiny. Dangerous. Looking vaguely annoyed at the existence of reality. Ace's violet eyes swept over her once. Head to toe. Assessing. Calculating. Confirming. Then: "You're not dead." Panam snorted. "Good observation." "You look tired." "Also true." Ace stepped aside. "Come in." No greeting. No ceremony. No questions. Just practical acceptance. For some reason, that helped. The apartment beyond was warm. Not physically. Emotionally. There were signs of people everywhere. Books. Tools. Half-finished projects. A blanket thrown over a couch. Coffee mugs that clearly belonged to actual human beings rather than professional operators. Panam wasn't sure why that surprised her. Maybe because she'd mostly seen the Triad in crisis mode. People looked different when reality wasn't actively trying to kill them. Mai appeared from the main room. She looked exactly like someone who had already anticipated everything. Which was, unfortunately, very Mai. Her silver hair was tied back. A datapad rested in one hand. The other held a glass of water. Panam eyed the water suspiciously. Mai handed it over anyway. "Drink." "I wasn't asking." "I know." Panam accepted it. Drank half immediately. Realized she was thirstier than she'd thought. Annoying. Mai noticed. Of course she noticed. "You ate?" "Earlier." "How much earlier?" Panam frowned. Mai waited. Panam frowned harder. "...a while ago." Mai nodded once. That answer apparently confirmed something. Panam followed her gaze. Only then did she notice the dining table. Food. Water. A medical kit. The medical kit immediately offended her. "There is no emergency." "No." Mai sounded perfectly calm. "Then why is that there?" "Because you said there is no emergency." Panam stared. Ace looked away. Which was suspicious. Very suspicious. "You're both impossible." "Frequently." "Thank you, Ace." "You're welcome." Panam opened her mouth. Closed it again. There was no point. She was outnumbered. Then she heard a voice from somewhere deeper inside the apartment. "Tea or coffee?" Panam froze. Not visibly. Hopefully. Her brain, however, came to a complete stop. Because she recognized the voice immediately. And absolutely nothing about the situation matched the voice she remembered. The kitchen sat partially hidden beyond the main room. A moment later Shammy appeared. And Panam's memory promptly crashed into reality. The woman she remembered from the OoP operation had seemed almost impossible. Too calm. Too large. Too stable. Like somebody had taken a thunderstorm and taught it patience. The woman walking out of the kitchen looked... normal. Mostly. She carried a mug. Her silver-white hair was slightly messy. She wasn't wearing combat gear. Wasn't radiating impossible pressure. Wasn't standing in the middle of an existential crisis. She was barefoot. Barefoot. Panam stared. Shammy tilted her head slightly. "Panam?" "Yeah." "You look confused." "I am." "Oh." Shammy considered this. Then: "Tea or coffee?" Panam blinked. Once. Twice. Ace folded her arms. The little traitor was already enjoying this. Panam pointed vaguely at Shammy. "That's not what I remember." Shammy looked down at herself. Then back up. "...the tea?" "No." "The mug?" "No." "The feet?" "No." Ace made a noise suspiciously close to laughter. Mai very carefully did not react. Which somehow made it worse. Panam looked between them. Then back at Shammy. "I remember a completely different person." Shammy seemed genuinely puzzled. "Oh." That was all. Just: "Oh." As if being described as a completely different person happened regularly. Ace finally spoke. "Common mistake." Panam looked at her. "What is?" "People think Shammy is the storm." Panam pointed again. "That's exactly what I saw." "Yeah." Ace nodded. Then pointed at Shammy. "That's the rest." For several seconds Panam simply stared. Shammy stared back. Entirely comfortable. Entirely unbothered. Entirely impossible. Then Shammy held up the mug. Again. Patiently. "Tea or coffee?" Panam laughed. Actually laughed. A short, surprised sound. Because somehow that question had become the most absurd thing she'd heard all day. "Coffee." Shammy smiled. "Good choice." And disappeared back into the kitchen. Panam watched her go. Something shifted. Tiny. Almost invisible. The image she'd carried from the OoP operation no longer fit. The problem was that she wasn't entirely sure what was replacing it. Across the room, Ace and Mai exchanged a glance. A very quick glance. Barely noticeable. Panam still caught it. "Don't." Ace looked innocent. Dangerous. But innocent. "Don't what?" "Whatever you're doing." Mai calmly opened her datapad again. "We're not doing anything." Panam pointed at both of them. "That." "What?" "That thing." Mai blinked. "What thing?" Panam looked at Ace. Then at Mai. Then at the kitchen where Shammy was apparently making coffee like a completely normal human being. Finally she sighed. "You know what?" Ace raised an eyebrow. "What?" "I've had a really bad day." "Fair." "I'm too tired to figure out whatever is wrong with this apartment." Ace nodded immediately. "Also fair." Panam dropped her bag beside the couch. For the first time since leaving the Aldecaldo camp, her shoulders relaxed slightly. Not completely. Not even close. But enough. Enough to sit down. Enough to breathe. Enough to stop preparing for the next fight. And somewhere in the kitchen, coffee was already brewing. Which somehow felt more dangerous than anything that had happened all day. --- ## Chapter 4 — No Questions The coffee was good. That annoyed Panam too. Not because there was anything wrong with it. The exact opposite. Night City apartments were supposed to serve synthetic sludge strong enough to dissolve industrial coatings. This tasted like somebody had actually cared. Which felt vaguely suspicious. Panam sat at the dining table. The mug warmed her hands. Food sat nearby. Real food. Not camp food. Not diner food. Not vending machine food. Something in between. Comfort food. The realization made her uncomfortable immediately. Across from her, Ace occupied a chair sideways. Not sitting. Perching. Like somebody who remained permanently ready to stab a wall if circumstances required. Mai sat with her datapad. Working. Or pretending to work. Hard to tell. The apartment had settled into an easy rhythm. People moving around each other without thinking about it. Without negotiating it. Without explaining it. The kind of rhythm that only formed when people had lived together for a long time. Panam noticed it immediately. And tried not to. The attempt failed. Shammy returned from the kitchen carrying her own mug. Then simply sat. No dramatic entrance. No conversation starter. No interrogation. Just... sat. Panam waited. Nothing happened. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen. Still nothing. Eventually she frowned. Ace noticed first. Of course. "What?" Panam looked between them. Then at Shammy. Then back again. "What?" Ace repeated. "Aren't you going to ask?" Mai glanced up. "Ask what?" Panam stared. "The obvious thing." Ace blinked. "Oh." Then she looked at Mai. Mai looked at Shammy. Shammy looked mildly confused. The silence stretched. Panam finally threw her hands up. "Seriously?" Ace shrugged. "You wanted somewhere to sleep." "Yes." "You got somewhere to sleep." "Yes." "What exactly is the problem?" Panam opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then stopped. Because that was actually the problem. Nobody had asked. Not: What happened? Not: Why are you here? Not: Did Saul finally lose his mind? Nothing. The subject simply sat there. Untouched. Like a box nobody felt obligated to open. Panam wasn't sure what to do with that. Most people would have demanded the story immediately. Hell, Panam would have demanded the story immediately. Ace seemed to realize where her thoughts were heading. "Look." Panam looked. "If you want to talk about it, talk about it." "And if I don't?" "Then don't." Panam frowned. "That's it?" "Yes." Mai returned to her datapad. "That is generally how consent works." Panam groaned. "You're all impossible." "Frequently." "Stop agreeing with that." "No." The conversation died again. Not awkwardly. Just... naturally. And somehow that made it worse. Because now Panam had nothing to push against. No pressure. No expectations. No demands. Just space. Across the table, Shammy took a sip from her mug. Then looked out the window. "You drove in from the east?" Panam blinked. The question arrived so suddenly she almost laughed. "Yeah." "The dust storm still there?" Panam stared. For several seconds. Then: "...that's what you're asking?" Shammy looked genuinely puzzled. "You don't like talking about weather?" Ace immediately looked away. Mai suddenly became very interested in her datapad. Panam pointed at them. "See?" "See what?" "They knew that was weird." Shammy looked at Ace. Then Mai. Then back at Panam. "Oh." A pause. Then: "The storm?" Panam laughed. Actually laughed. Again. "Damn it." Shammy smiled slightly. A small thing. But unexpectedly warm. "The storm?" Panam shook her head. "Yeah." She took another sip of coffee. "Still there." "Bad?" "Moderate." "Moving north?" Now Panam stared again. Longer this time. "You actually care." Shammy shrugged. "Weather matters." Something about the answer felt absurdly reasonable. And because it felt reasonable, Panam found herself answering. Without meaning to. Without deciding to. Without noticing the exact moment it happened. "Storm front shifted yesterday." Shammy nodded. "That's why the pressure changed." Panam paused. "Pressure?" "Mm." "What pressure?" Shammy pointed vaguely upward. "The atmosphere." Panam looked at Ace. Ace immediately raised both hands. "Don't look at me." "Why?" "I learned years ago not to ask follow-up questions." Mai nodded. "Wise decision." Panam looked back at Shammy. "You can tell pressure changes?" "Usually." "How?" Shammy considered that. Then: "I don't know." Panam stared. "That's not an answer." "It's the answer." The frustrating thing was that Shammy wasn't being evasive. Panam knew evasive. This wasn't that. This was somebody honestly trying to explain something she had never needed to explain before. And somehow that made Panam more curious. Not less. Which was dangerous. Very dangerous. Because curiosity was how people ended up emotionally compromised. Or kidnapped. Or dating musicians. All bad outcomes. The conversation drifted. Not toward Saul. Not toward Aldecaldos. Not toward the reason Panam was here. Instead it wandered through weather patterns. Road conditions. Engine cooling systems. Badlands storms. Vehicle maintenance. The sort of subjects that should have been boring. Except they weren't. At some point Panam realized she'd been talking for nearly twenty minutes. Mostly to Shammy. Mostly voluntarily. A deeply concerning development. Across the room, Ace had stopped pretending not to watch. Mai had stopped pretending not to notice Ace watching. Neither had commented. Yet. That was somehow more threatening. Panam finally caught the look. A tiny one. Barely visible. A glance. Nothing more. Ace. Then Mai. Then back again. Silent communication. Instant understanding. Years of familiarity. Panam narrowed her eyes. "What?" Ace looked innocent. Again. Suspiciously innocent. "What?" "You did the thing." "What thing?" "The look." Mai sighed. "Ace." "What?" "You are being obvious." "I am not." "You are." Panam pointed between them. "See?" Ace looked offended. "I wasn't doing anything." "You absolutely were." "I was observing." "That's worse." Ace considered that. Then nodded. "Fair." Panam groaned and leaned back in her chair. The coffee was still warm. The apartment was still comfortable. The city lights shimmered beyond the window. And somehow, against all logic, against all common sense, against everything she had expected from the day... She felt a little better. Not fixed. Not healed. Not happy. Just... better. Which was enough to make her suspicious. Across from her, Shammy quietly watched traffic moving through the distant streets. The glow of Night City reflected faintly in her eyes. For a moment Panam remembered the woman standing in the middle of the OoP crisis. The impossible figure who had looked almost elemental. Then she looked at the woman sitting across the table. Coffee mug. Bare feet. Asking about weather. The two images still refused to fit together. The strange part was that Panam was starting to want them to. --- ## Chapter 5 — Balcony Weather The apartment eventually settled into evening. Not suddenly. Gradually. Like water finding its level. Mai disappeared into her office for a while. Ace migrated toward the couch with a book she absolutely wasn't reading. The city outside continued doing whatever impossible thing Night City did every night. Living. Panam remained at the table longer than intended. Mostly because standing up would have required admitting she had become comfortable. And Panam refused to provide reality with that kind of leverage. The second cup of coffee wasn't helping. Neither was Shammy. Or rather, the complete absence of effort from Shammy. That was the problem. Most people pushed. Most people wanted something. Attention. Approval. Agreement. Conversation. Information. Something. Shammy apparently wanted nothing. Panam was beginning to suspect that was more dangerous than wanting something. Eventually she stood. "Air." Ace looked up. "What?" "I'm getting air." Ace blinked. "Okay." Panam narrowed her eyes. "That's all?" "What did you want me to say?" "I don't know." Ace thought about it. Then: "Enjoy the air." Panam pointed at her. "You are being weird." Ace immediately looked toward the kitchen. "Mai." From somewhere deeper inside the apartment: "Yes?" "Panam says we're weird." A pause. Then: "We are." Panam groaned. And escaped to the balcony. The evening air felt cooler than expected. Not cold. Just cooler. The kind of temperature that only appeared after the city had finally exhausted itself from pretending to be hotter than the surrounding desert. Night City stretched outward beneath her. A sea of lights. Motion. Noise. Distance. Panam rested her forearms on the railing. Looked outward. Breathed. For the first time since leaving camp, nobody was looking at her. Nobody needed a decision. Nobody expected leadership. Nobody wanted an argument. The silence felt strange. Not uncomfortable. Just unfamiliar. A sliding door opened behind her. Panam didn't need to turn around. She already knew. Shammy stepped onto the balcony carrying two mugs. Of course she did. Naturally. Panam accepted the offered mug without comment. Shammy leaned against the railing beside her. Not too close. Not too far. Just there. For a while neither spoke. Traffic hummed somewhere below. A distant siren echoed through the city. The wind shifted. Panam took a sip. Then glanced sideways. "You do this a lot?" Shammy looked over. "Stand on balconies?" "Yes." A small shrug. "They're useful." "For what?" "Listening." Panam looked around. "To what?" "The city." The answer arrived so casually that Panam almost laughed. Instead she shook her head. "You're weird." "That's what Ace says." "She's right." "Sometimes." The wind shifted again. Shammy tilted her head slightly. Almost imperceptibly. Panam noticed anyway. "There." Shammy looked over. "There what?" "The thing." "What thing?" "You just did it." Shammy blinked. "I don't know what that means." Panam pointed vaguely. "That weather thing." "Oh." A pause. Then: "The pressure changed." Panam laughed. "There is no way that's real." "It is." "No." "It is." "No." Shammy smiled slightly. The first hint of amusement all evening. Panam immediately became suspicious. "You think this is funny." "A little." "There it is." "There what is?" "You're messing with me." "I'm not." "You are." "I'm really not." The frustrating part was that Panam believed her. Which somehow made it worse. A comfortable silence settled between them. Not empty. Just present. The city lights reflected faintly in the balcony glass. For several minutes they simply watched traffic move below. Then Shammy spoke. "You miss it." Panam looked over. "The camp?" Shammy nodded. The answer arrived instantly. "Of course I do." Not even a question. Not even hesitation. The speed of it surprised them both. Panam stared out over the city again. The lights had started to blur slightly. Not from tears. Just exhaustion. "That doesn't mean Saul wasn't an idiot." "I didn't say it did." "He was." "Probably." Panam snorted. "Probably?" Shammy considered. "Maybe seventy percent." The answer hit Panam completely wrong. For one glorious second she couldn't breathe. Then she laughed. Hard. Actual laughter. The kind that escaped before permission was granted. "Oh my God." "What?" "Seventy percent?" Shammy nodded. "Approximate estimate." "That's not how arguments work." "It is if you're Mai." Panam laughed again. From inside the apartment came Ace's voice. "Don't blame Mai." Mai answered immediately. "You are both outside." Ace: "...damn." Panam actually had to lean against the railing. The ridiculousness of it all finally caught up with her. Saul. The drive. The city. The apartment. The impossible realization that the Triad apparently functioned like this all the time. When the laughter finally faded, she felt lighter. Only a little. But enough. Shammy watched her quietly. No analysis. No commentary. Just observation. Panam noticed. "What?" "Nothing." "That's a lie." "No." "Then what?" Shammy looked back toward the city. For a moment Panam thought she wouldn't answer. Then: "You laugh differently than I expected." The sentence landed strangely. Not bad. Just unexpected. Panam frowned. "What does that mean?" "I don't know." That again. The frustrating honesty. The complete inability to manufacture an answer just because one was expected. Panam looked at her. Really looked. The silver-white hair. The electric-blue eyes. The impossible height. The relaxed posture. And suddenly the memory of the OoP crisis returned. Not as fear. As confusion. Because the woman standing beside her and the woman she remembered still felt like two different people. The difference now was that she was beginning to understand why. One wasn't fake. Neither was fake. One was just what happened when reality caught fire. The other was what remained afterward. The realization settled quietly somewhere inside her. Dangerous territory. Very dangerous territory. Panam decided to retreat immediately. The problem was that her mouth chose a different strategy. "You know..." Shammy looked over. "When I met you during the Navigator mess..." A small nod. "...I thought you were terrifying." For the first time all evening, Shammy looked genuinely shocked. Not offended. Not amused. Shocked. "Me?" "Yes." "Why?" Panam stared. Then pointed at her. "Because you walked into a situation that should have killed all of us and acted like the weather was mildly inconvenient." Shammy thought about that. Seriously. Actually thought about it. Then: "It was very inconvenient." Panam covered her face with one hand. "Oh, you're impossible too." Behind them the balcony door slid open again. Ace stepped outside. Looked at Panam. Looked at Shammy. Looked at both of them together. Then immediately turned around. "Nope." Panam blinked. "What?" Ace disappeared back inside. The door closed. Several seconds passed. From inside came Mai's voice: "What happened?" Ace: "They're doing weather." Mai: "Oh." A pause. Then: "That far already?" Panam stared at the balcony door. The balcony door stared back. Shammy looked confused. Again. "Should we be concerned?" Panam slowly lowered her mug. And for the first time all evening, she and Shammy were confused about exactly the same thing. Which, somehow, felt even more dangerous. --- ## Chapter 6 — The Watchers On The Couch Ace lasted eleven minutes. Which, in her defense, was considerably longer than Mai had expected. The balcony door slid shut behind her. Ace crossed the living room. Sat on the couch. Opened her book. Stared directly at the same page for approximately forty seconds. Then closed it again. Mai didn't look up from her datapad. "How long?" "Eleven minutes." "Better than I expected." "I was trying." "I know." Ace leaned back. The apartment remained quiet. Outside, Panam and Shammy were still talking. The conversation drifted in through the partially open balcony door. Fragments. Weather. Roads. Engines. Storms. Nothing important. Which was exactly why it was important. Ace folded her arms. Mai continued reading. Several more minutes passed. Eventually: "You see it too." Mai didn't even pretend to misunderstand. "Yes." Ace nodded. "Good." Another pause. Then: "This is weird." Mai finally looked up. "No." "It is." "No." Ace pointed toward the balcony. "They met once." "That is not accurate." "You know what I mean." Mai did. Unfortunately. OoP had technically introduced them. But introductions during existential disasters barely counted. People learned what someone could do. Not who they were. The distinction mattered. Outside, Panam laughed again. Ace immediately looked toward the balcony. Then back at Mai. Then toward the balcony again. Mai watched the entire process happen. Patiently. Like observing a particularly stubborn animal. "What?" Ace narrowed her eyes. "You know exactly what." "Probably." "She's laughing." "Yes." "Panam." "Still yes." Ace leaned forward slightly. "She arrived angry." "Correct." "Very angry." "Also correct." "Now she's discussing atmospheric pressure." Mai considered that. "That is admittedly unusual." Ace pointed triumphantly. "Exactly." The datapad lowered completely now. Mai's attention finally shifted. The conversation had moved beyond casual observation. Which usually meant Ace had become genuinely curious. A dangerous state. Not for anyone else. For Ace. Curiosity frequently turned into plans. Plans frequently turned into incidents. Mai preferred early intervention. "You are worried." Ace blinked. "No." "You are." "No." "You think Shammy is being pulled somewhere." Ace immediately shook her head. "No." Mai waited. Ace sighed. "Not pulled." "Then?" A longer silence. Ace looked toward the balcony again. This time her expression softened slightly. Almost imperceptibly. "Expanded." Mai smiled. There it was. The real concern. Not loss. Growth. The difference mattered. A lot. Because Ace wasn't afraid of Panam. She wasn't afraid of Shammy. She wasn't afraid of whatever this became. She was afraid of getting it wrong. Again. That had always been the hidden vulnerability beneath the sharp edges. Mai understood immediately. "Shammy is not leaving." "I know." "You still worry." Ace glared. "Stop being right." "No." The answer arrived automatically. Years of practice. Outside, another burst of laughter drifted through the apartment. This time both women looked toward the balcony. A comfortable silence followed. Then Ace spoke again. Softer. More thoughtful. "She thought Shammy was the storm." Mai nodded. "Most people do." "Panam definitely did." "Yes." Ace leaned back. The couch creaked quietly. "Funny thing." Mai waited. Ace rarely announced observations unless she had already spent several minutes thinking about them. "Shammy is the only one of us that people consistently misunderstand in both directions." Mai tilted her head. That was interesting. "Explain." "A lot of people see me and think small." Reasonable. "A lot of people see you and think calm." Also reasonable. "A lot of people see Shammy and think power." Mai considered that. Then nodded. Accurate. "Except power isn't the important part." "No." "The important part is the person carrying it." "Correct." Outside, Panam said something neither of them caught. Shammy answered. The city hummed beyond the glass. For a moment the apartment settled into one of those rare pauses where nobody felt the need to fill space. Then Ace ruined it. Naturally. "What if Panam stays?" Mai blinked. "Long-term?" "No." A pause. Then: "Panam can't stay long-term." "Agreed." The answer came instantly. Not because of rejection. Because of reality. Panam belonged to the road. To Aldecaldos. To open skies and moving horizons. Trying to keep her permanently inside Night City would be like trying to domesticate a sandstorm. Possible. Briefly. Catastrophic afterward. Ace nodded. Exactly. "That's why it's interesting." Mai understood immediately. And now she saw where Ace had been heading. Not orbit. Not exactly. Something else. Something asymmetrical. Something that didn't fit the existing structure. The thought lingered. Neither spoke for a while. Then: "A comet." Ace looked over. Mai shrugged. "The closest comparison." Ace stared. Then laughed. A short bark of amusement. "A comet." "Yes." "Shows up unexpectedly." "Yes." "Changes everything." "Often." "Leaves again." "Eventually." The smile on Ace's face widened slightly. "A comet." The term settled surprisingly well. Outside, Panam laughed again. Mai looked toward the balcony. Then at Ace. Then back toward the balcony. And suddenly the future became slightly easier to imagine. Not because anyone had solved anything. Because nobody needed to. Not tonight. Tonight was enough. Tonight Panam had somewhere safe. Shammy had somebody new to talk to. And Ace had apparently decided to name celestial objects after people. A productive evening overall. The balcony door slid open. Panam stepped back inside. Immediately suspicious. Ace sat up. Mai resumed holding her datapad. Both expressions became perfectly neutral. Almost. Panam looked between them. Then narrowed her eyes. "What." Ace blinked. "What?" "You were talking about me." "No." "Yes." "No." "Yes." Mai sighed. "We were discussing astronomy." Panam stared. For several seconds. Then looked at Ace. Then Mai. Then back again. "...you know what?" "What?" "I don't even want to know." "Healthy decision." "Thank you, Mai." "You're welcome." Panam shook her head. Then headed toward the kitchen. Ace waited until she disappeared from sight. Looked at Mai. And quietly said: "A comet." Mai nodded. Outside the window, Night City glowed. Inside the apartment, nobody realized quite how accurate the description was becoming. --- ## Chapter 7 — The Morning After Nothing Panam woke up confused. Which was unusual. Normally she woke up knowing exactly where she was. Convoy. Camp. Garage. Roadside motel. Vehicle cabin. The details changed. The feeling didn't. This morning took several seconds. A ceiling she didn't recognize. A room that didn't belong to her. Silence. Then memory returned. Saul. The drive. Night City. The safehouse. The weather discussion. The increasingly suspicious behavior of everyone involved. Especially Ace. Panam groaned. Buried her face in the pillow. And immediately smelled detergent. Actual detergent. Not dust. Not engine oil. Not desert air. Just clean sheets. Which somehow made everything worse. Because now she was comfortable. And Panam Palmer hated being comfortable when she was supposed to be angry. The clock on the wall informed her it was later than intended. Another betrayal. She sat up. Ran a hand through her hair. Stared at the room. It wasn't fancy. It wasn't luxurious. It was lived in. A guest room that had clearly been a guest room for a long time. Not improvised. Not temporary. Prepared. The realization lingered longer than expected. Eventually she stood. Got dressed. Collected her gear. And made the sensible decision. Leave. Immediately. Before anybody started asking questions. Before she accidentally relaxed. Before she became one of those people who stayed. The logic was flawless. Which should have warned her it was about to fail. The apartment was already awake. Coffee. The smell reached her before she reached the kitchen. A cruel attack. Panam followed it anyway. Ace sat on the counter. Not beside it. Not near it. On it. Like a particularly dangerous housecat. Mai occupied the table. Datapad. Coffee. Work. Of course. Shammy stood near the window. Watching morning traffic. Because apparently she actually did that. Nobody looked surprised to see Panam. Nobody acted like a guest had appeared. Which immediately made her suspicious. "Morning." Mai glanced up. "Morning." Ace raised a mug. "Not dead." "Still not dead." "Good." Panam dropped her bag beside the door. Deliberately. Obviously. Clearly. A statement. Nobody reacted. She frowned. Waited. Still nothing. Finally: "I'm leaving." Mai took a sip of coffee. "Okay." Panam blinked. "...okay?" "Yes." The response had arrived too easily. Panam immediately distrusted it. Ace looked between them. Then at the bag. Then back at Panam. "Oh." Panam narrowed her eyes. "What." Ace pointed. "The dramatic placement." "The what?" "The bag." Panam looked at the bag. Then at Ace. Then back at the bag. "I put it beside the door." "You announced your departure." "I did not." "You absolutely did." Mai nodded. "She did." Panam stared. The problem was that they weren't wrong. Which made this annoying. She pointed at both of them. "You're impossible." "Frequently." "Stop agreeing with that." "No." The answer arrived from both simultaneously. Panam hated how synchronized they were. A movement near the window drew her attention. Shammy had turned around. Coffee mug in hand. Watching. Not judging. Not evaluating. Just watching. Again. That dangerous habit. "You leaving today?" The question came from Shammy. Simple. Neutral. No hidden pressure. Panam immediately became defensive anyway. "Probably." A small nod. "Okay." That was it. No disappointment. No attempt to persuade. No request to stay. Just: Okay. For some reason that irritated Panam more than persuasion would have. Because now staying would actually be her choice. Which was obviously unacceptable. Mai looked up from her datapad. "Vehicle needs inspection." Panam immediately pointed. "There it is." "There what is?" "The trap." Mai blinked. "What trap?" "The reason." "The reason for what?" "The reason you're trying to keep me here." Mai stared. Then looked at Ace. Ace looked at Mai. Then both looked back at Panam. Mai spoke first. "Your left rear suspension is making noise." Panam froze. "...what?" Ace sipped coffee. "The vehicle." Panam turned slowly. "You checked my vehicle." "Yes." "Without asking." "Yes." "Why?" Ace looked genuinely confused. "Because you arrived." Panam stared. The logic was completely insane. Unfortunately it was also completely Triad. Mai finally lowered the datapad. "The suspension is probably fine." "Probably?" "Probably." Panam narrowed her eyes. "That doesn't sound reassuring." "It isn't." A pause. Then: "We should verify." There it was. The trap. The beautiful, elegant, impossible trap. Not emotion. Not guilt. Not hospitality. Mechanics. Vehicle maintenance. Practicality. Panam hated how effective it was. Because she couldn't argue. A few seconds passed. Then: "...fine." Ace immediately looked victorious. Panam pointed. "Don't." "What?" "That." "What?" "The face." "I don't know what you're talking about." "You absolutely do." Ace's grin widened. Panam regretted everything. The agent on the table suddenly vibrated. Everyone looked. Incoming message. Unknown to most. Immediately recognizable to Panam. Mitch. The room became slightly quieter. Not tense. Just attentive. Panam picked up the device. Read. And felt her stomach tighten. The message was short. Very Mitch. Can't talk openly. Camp's a mess. Nobody likes the order. Saul's being Saul. You okay? Panam stared at the screen. Read it twice. Three times. The anger she'd managed to ignore all morning stirred again. Because there it was. Proof. The camp had noticed. The camp cared. The camp wasn't okay with what happened. Which somehow hurt more than if they had been. Shammy noticed first. Of course. Not the message. The change. The pressure. The tiny shift in posture. The almost invisible tightening around Panam's eyes. "You okay?" Panam laughed. A short sound. Not a happy one. "No." Nobody rushed to fill the silence. Nobody offered solutions. Nobody tried to fix it. The apartment simply stayed still. Giving her room. The same way it had last night. The same way nobody else had. Eventually Panam sat down. Slowly. Coffee appeared in front of her. She wasn't entirely sure who placed it there. Possibly Shammy. Possibly magic. At this point both seemed equally likely. She looked around the table. At Ace. At Mai. At Shammy. At the strange, impossible calm that somehow existed inside these walls. Then at the message again. And finally said the thing she had been trying very hard not to say. "...maybe one more day." The victory in Ace's expression was immediate. Panam pointed. Again. "Don't." "I didn't say anything." "You didn't have to." Mai calmly resumed reading. Mission accomplished. Shammy smiled into her coffee. And outside, Night City continued turning beneath the morning sun. For the first time since leaving the Aldecaldo camp, Panam wasn't counting the minutes until she left. That realization was considerably more dangerous than the suspension issue. --- ## Chapter 8 — Aldecaldo Static The suspension was fine. Panam knew it. Ace knew it. Mai knew it. The vehicle knew it. Unfortunately that wasn't the point. The point was that Panam had already agreed to check it. Which meant she was trapped by her own standards. A mistake she normally preferred other people to make. The morning drifted by. Coffee became breakfast. Breakfast became conversation. Conversation somehow avoided Saul entirely. Not deliberately. The subject simply never settled long enough to stay. Every time it approached, it drifted away again. Roads. Weather. Vehicles. Night City. Badlands. The usual orbit. By noon Panam found herself standing in the garage area beneath the apartment building. Arms folded. Watching Ace pretend not to enjoy herself. The vehicle sat with its rear wheel removed. Several tools lay scattered nearby. Far too many tools. "You're enjoying this." Ace didn't even look up. "Yes." "At least you're honest." "Frequently." Panam groaned. Nearby, Mai sat on an overturned crate reviewing something on a datapad. The picture of productivity. Or intimidation. With Mai it was often both. Shammy stood beside the open vehicle. Listening. Watching. Learning. That part still surprised Panam. Most people nodded politely when somebody explained engine maintenance. Shammy actually listened. Which made teaching her weirdly enjoyable. Dangerous realization. Very dangerous. Panam pointed toward a coolant line. "See that?" Shammy leaned slightly closer. "Mm." "If that starts leaking during a convoy run, the problem isn't the leak." A pause. "What's the problem?" "The thing that caused the leak." A small nod. Understanding. Immediate understanding. Panam smiled despite herself. "There you go." The smile that appeared on Shammyn's face afterward lasted only a second. But Panam noticed. And immediately became annoyed with herself for noticing. Across the garage Ace noticed Panam noticing. Which was unfortunate. Very unfortunate. Because Ace immediately developed that expression. The expression. The one that usually preceded trouble. Panam pointed a wrench at her. "Don't." "What?" "Whatever you're thinking." "I'm not thinking anything." Mai looked up. "You are absolutely thinking something." "Traitor." "Correct." Panam rubbed her forehead. This was going to be a long day. --- The message from Mitch arrived shortly after lunch. Then another. Then another. Not because Mitch wanted to talk. Because the camp was already beginning to crack around Saul's order. The first message was practical. People asking questions. The second was worse. Carol says you're an idiot. Panam stared at the screen. Then laughed. Despite herself. A third message followed moments later. Correction. Carol says Saul is an idiot. You're just helping. That one got a genuine laugh. Across the table Shammy looked up. "What?" Panam handed over the agent. Shammy read. Blinking once. Then twice. Finally: "That's affectionate." Panam nearly choked. "What?" "The message." "No." "It is." "No." "It is." Panam looked toward Mai. "Help." Mai glanced at the screen. Then nodded. "It is." Panam looked at Ace. "Help." Ace read it. Thought for half a second. Then: "Definitely affectionate." Panam stared at all three. The realization hit suddenly. Hard. And unpleasantly. She missed them. The camp. The people. Even the idiots. Especially the idiots. Because that was what family did. They irritated each other. Repeatedly. Professionally. For decades. The thought lingered. Longer than expected. Across the table Shammy quietly slid the agent back toward her. No comment. No analysis. No attempt to dissect the feeling. Just understanding. The same way she'd done everything else. Panam hated how effective that was. --- By late afternoon they found themselves walking through Night City. Not because anybody had planned it. Because a replacement part was supposedly easier to acquire in person. Panam strongly suspected Mai had arranged this. Mai strongly denied it. Which meant Panam was probably correct. The city pressed in from all sides. Noise. Crowds. Traffic. Neon. The endless movement of millions of lives intersecting without ever really touching. Panam tolerated it. Barely. Beside her Shammy moved through the crowd effortlessly. Not forcing space. Not demanding it. People simply seemed to drift around her. Like water around stone. Panam noticed. Again. Because apparently noticing Shammy had become a full-time occupation. A deeply irritating development. They crossed a busy intersection. A vendor shouted something. A delivery drone nearly clipped a traffic signal. Somewhere nearby two strangers began arguing. Normal Night City. Shammy glanced upward. "The weather's changing." Panam immediately laughed. "No." "It is." "No." "It isn't." "It is." Panam pointed toward the sky. "There isn't even a cloud." "Still changing." "Impossible." Shammy smiled. Tiny. Victorious. Panam hated how much she liked that smile. The realization arrived unexpectedly. And lodged itself somewhere inconvenient. Not attraction. Not yet. Not exactly. But awareness. A growing one. The kind that made somebody occupy more space in your thoughts than they technically deserved. Dangerous territory. Again. Always dangerous territory. A few minutes later they stopped outside a parts supplier. The old mechanic behind the counter greeted Panam immediately. Badlands reputation. Nomad recognition. The usual. What Panam didn't expect was the old man studying Shammy for several seconds. Then nodding once. As though reaching a conclusion. "You two together?" Panam froze. Completely. The world stopped. The city stopped. Time itself stopped. Beside her, Shammy looked genuinely confused. The mechanic waited. Panam opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Which was horrifying. Because Panam Palmer always had something to say. Always. The silence stretched. Then Shammy answered. Perfectly honestly. "We came here together." The mechanic nodded. Satisfied. Apparently that answered everything. Panam wanted the ground to open. Immediately. The old man wandered off. Conversation concluded. Reality resumed. Several seconds passed. Neither spoke. Finally: "...what just happened?" Shammy tilted her head. "The parts?" "No." "The mechanic?" "Yes." "Oh." A pause. Then: "I think he misunderstood." Panam stared. Then started laughing. Because somehow that answer was even worse. And somewhere far away, if Ace had been present, she would have been absolutely insufferable about the entire situation. --- ## Chapter 9 — A City That Doesn't Fit Her The mechanic incident should have died immediately. A normal conversation. A minor misunderstanding. Nothing important. That was the theory. The theory lasted exactly six minutes. The elevator doors opened. Panam stepped into the apartment. Shammy beside her. Replacement parts in hand. A perfectly ordinary return. The moment Ace looked up from the couch, Panam knew she was doomed. Instinct. Survival sense. Predator detection. Something. Ace's eyes narrowed slightly. Then: "What happened?" Panam froze. Immediately. "Nothing." Ace looked at Shammy. Then back at Panam. Then at the parts. Then at Panam again. "What happened?" "Nothing happened." Mai looked up from her datapad. Which somehow made it worse. "What happened?" Panam pointed accusingly. "Why are you both doing that?" "Doing what?" "The thing." "What thing?" "The interrogation thing." Ace sat forward. Interested now. Very interested. "We aren't interrogating." "You're absolutely interrogating." "We asked a question." "Twice." Mai calmly took a sip of coffee. "Three times." Panam looked toward Shammy. Seeking support. A mistake. Shammy considered the situation. Then answered honestly. "The mechanic thought we were together." Silence. Absolute silence. The apartment stopped. Ace stopped. Mai stopped. Time itself stopped. Panam closed her eyes. Because of course. Of course Shammy would answer the question. And of course she would answer it with perfect honesty. The silence lasted approximately three seconds. Then Ace fell sideways off the couch. Not dramatically. Not because she was injured. Because she was laughing. Hard. The impact with the floor somehow made it worse. Mai lowered her coffee cup. Very carefully. The tiny smile at the corner of her mouth immediately informed Panam that no help would be arriving. None. At all. Ever. "Oh no." Ace had reached the stage where coherent speech became difficult. "Oh no." Panam pointed. "You stop that." Ace sat up. Still laughing. "What did you say?" "I didn't say anything." "What did Shammy say?" "I said we came there together." Ace immediately disappeared into laughter again. Mai finally looked at Shammy. "You answered literally." A small nod. "Yes." Another pause. Then Mai nodded. "Understandable." Panam stared. "Understandable?" "Yes." "It absolutely is not." "It is." Panam looked around the room. At all three of them. Then at reality itself. Reality offered no assistance. --- The teasing should have continued. Panam expected it to. Actually, Panam expected Ace to ride the incident directly into the ground. Instead something stranger happened. About twenty minutes later the conversation had moved on. Dinner happened. People talked. Life continued. And somehow nobody brought it up again. Not once. Not twice. Not at all. Which became progressively more suspicious. By the time evening arrived, Panam trusted the silence less than she would have trusted the teasing. Because Ace never abandoned ammunition. Never. Not voluntarily. Eventually she couldn't take it anymore. "You are planning something." Ace looked up. "No." "Lie." "No." "Lie." "No." Panam pointed. "Why haven't you brought up the mechanic again?" Ace blinked. "Oh." There was that smile. The dangerous one. "The mechanic." "Yes." "The mechanic." "Yes." Ace looked toward Mai. Mai looked toward Ace. Neither spoke. Panam's eyes narrowed. Dangerously. Then Ace shrugged. "We don't need to." Panam froze. "...what does that mean?" Ace looked genuinely confused. "Nothing." Panam stared. The problem was that it absolutely meant something. --- Later that evening, after dinner, after coffee, after another hour of increasingly normal conversation, Panam found herself standing by the apartment window. Night City glowed beyond the glass. Traffic moved below. A thousand tiny lives. A thousand tiny stories. The city never really slept. Behind her, the apartment settled into evening rhythms again. Ace reading. Mai working. Shammy quietly existing. The usual. Panam watched the reflection in the window. Not intentionally. Just because it was there. The reflection showed the room behind her. Showed Ace. Showed Mai. Showed Shammy. The strange thing was that her eyes kept drifting back toward the same figure. Again. And again. And again. Not because Shammy was speaking. She wasn't. Not because she was doing anything. She wasn't. Just... there. The realization irritated Panam immediately. Which was becoming a recurring theme. A movement in the reflection caught her attention. Ace. Watching. Not directly. Through the reflection. The little gremlin. Panam didn't turn around. Didn't acknowledge it. Instead she spoke toward the glass. "Say it." Behind her came Ace's voice. "Say what?" "Whatever you're thinking." A pause. Then: "No." Panam blinked. That wasn't the answer she'd expected. She finally turned around. Ace looked almost thoughtful. Which was somehow more alarming. "What." Ace considered for a second. Then: "Nothing." "Lie." "No." "Lie." "No." Panam pointed. Again. "You're impossible." "Frequently." Mai sighed into her datapad. "Every day." Panam groaned. The apartment laughed. And for a moment... Just a moment... The exile. The argument. The anger. The uncertainty. All of it felt farther away. Not gone. Never gone. Just... farther away. The dangerous part was that Panam noticed. The even more dangerous part was that Shammy noticed too. Neither said anything. Neither needed to. Outside, Night City continued shining beneath the darkening sky. Inside, something much quieter continued growing. Neither of them had figured out what it was yet. Ace and Mai, unfortunately, were several chapters ahead. --- ## Chapter 10 — Static Build-Up The next morning should have been normal. Which was probably why it failed. Panam woke earlier this time. The apartment remained quiet. Sunlight spilled through the windows. Night City's endless machinery had not yet reached full volume. For a few moments she simply lay there. Listening. No arguments. No engines. No radios. No convoy chatter. Just distant city noise. The realization felt strange. The camp had always been loud. Even when it was quiet. Especially when it was quiet. There was always somebody awake. Somebody fixing something. Somebody arguing. Somebody pretending not to argue. Aldecaldos never truly stopped moving. The safehouse was different. It breathed. Slowly. Steadily. Like it trusted itself. Panam wasn't entirely sure what to do with that. Eventually she got up. Followed the smell of coffee. Because apparently that was becoming a habit. A disturbing development. The kitchen was occupied. Naturally. Shammy stood by the counter. Coffee already prepared. Sunlight catching silver-white hair. Looking entirely too comfortable for somebody who could casually survive reality failures. Panam stopped in the doorway. The image collided violently with her OoP memories. Again. Still. Every single time. Shammy looked up. "Morning." Panam nodded. "Morning." A mug appeared. As though by magic. Or worse. Preparation. Panam accepted it automatically. Then realized she'd accepted it automatically. Which somehow made things worse. Shammy watched this process happen. Amused. Very slightly. Panam pointed immediately. "What." "You took the coffee." "Yes." "Without checking it." "...yes." "Progress." Panam stared. For several seconds. Then: "You know what?" "What?" "I liked you more when you were terrifying." The answer arrived instantly. "Oh." A pause. Then: "Sorry." Panam nearly dropped the mug. "What?" "You said you liked that version more." "No." "I misunderstood?" "Completely." "Okay." Panam rubbed her forehead. The conversation had somehow escaped her control in under thirty seconds. An impressive achievement. --- The others woke gradually. Mai first. Predictably. Then Ace. Less predictably. Because Ace usually treated mornings as personal enemies. Breakfast happened. Coffee happened. A second coffee happened. Nobody discussed Saul. Nobody discussed Aldecaldos. Nobody discussed why Panam was still here. And eventually Panam couldn't take it anymore. She put down her mug. Looked around the table. And asked: "Are you all doing this on purpose?" Three pairs of eyes turned toward her. Ace spoke first. "Doing what?" "The thing." "What thing?" "The not asking thing." Mai blinked. "Oh." Panam pointed. "That." Ace immediately looked at Mai. Mai looked at Shammy. Shammy looked at Panam. The silence stretched. Then Ace shrugged. "We figured you'd talk when you wanted to." Panam stared. The answer annoyed her. Because it was reasonable. Reasonable answers were difficult to attack. "That's stupid." "No." "It is." "No." Panam looked at Mai. "Help me." "No." Traitor. Absolute traitor. The realization arrived slowly. Then all at once. Nobody was asking because nobody was trying to extract information. Nobody was waiting for a confession. Nobody was waiting for emotional drama. They were just... waiting. For her. Whenever she was ready. The understanding hit harder than expected. For a moment she found herself looking down at the coffee instead of at them. Dangerous. Very dangerous. Because feelings were starting to happen. Panam preferred machinery. Machinery made sense. --- The message arrived around noon. This time from Carol. Directly. Panam opened it immediately. The contents were short. Which somehow made them worse. Camp's getting weird. Half the people are pretending nothing happened. The other half are pretending they're not talking about it. Saul is pretending he's right. It's exhausting. Come back when you're ready. Not when he's ready. When you're ready. Panam stared at the screen. Read it twice. Then a third time. The apartment remained quiet. Nobody intruded. Nobody asked. Nobody even looked. Because apparently everyone here had collectively decided to respect boundaries. A frankly ridiculous concept. Eventually she lowered the agent. And realized something. Something unpleasant. Something unavoidable. She missed them. All of them. Even Saul. Which was irritating. Because Saul was currently an idiot. Possibly a seventy-percent idiot. Maybe even eighty. She'd have to consult Shammy's statistical model. The thought escaped before she could stop it. A laugh. Small. Unexpected. Across the room Shammy looked up. Immediately. Not because of the laugh. Because of the change behind it. And for a brief moment their eyes met. Just a moment. Nothing dramatic. Nothing romantic. Nothing obvious. Yet. But something passed between them anyway. Recognition. The simple realization that somebody else understood. Not the facts. Not the details. Just the feeling. And somehow that felt even more dangerous than the mechanic incident. Because Panam was beginning to suspect the mechanic hadn't misunderstood nearly as much as she'd hoped. And somewhere on the couch, Ace had absolutely noticed that look. Which meant the universe was about to become significantly less fair. --- ## Chapter 11 — The Wrong Kind of Quiet The apartment was quiet. Not silent. Never silent. There was always something. The hum of ventilation. The distant pulse of Night City. The sound of somebody moving in another room. Life. Just enough to remind people they weren't alone. Panam sat on the couch. Agent in hand. Carol's message still open. She'd reread it several times. Not because the words changed. Because they didn't. That was the problem. Come back when you're ready. Not when he's ready. When you're ready. Carol knew exactly where to stab. Professionally. Affectionately. Mercilessly. Like family. Panam sighed. Then tossed the agent onto the table. Immediately regretted it. Picked it up again. Read the message. Again. Across the room Ace watched the entire process. Very quietly. Like a predator observing a wounded animal. Or a sibling. With Ace the distinction was often blurry. Eventually: "You've read that seven times." Panam didn't look up. "No I haven't." "You have." "No." "You have." "No." A pause. Then: "Eight now." Panam threw a cushion. Ace caught it. Without looking. Which somehow made it worse. --- The afternoon passed slowly. Comfortably. Dangerously. Mai worked. Ace pretended to read. Shammy occupied a chair near the window. Doing whatever it was Shammy did when left unattended. Nobody had figured that out yet. Possibly not even Shammy. Panam had spent years around nomads. Years around mercs. Years around fixers. She understood people. Mostly. At least enough to predict them. Shammy remained a statistical anomaly. The OoP version made sense. That woman had been terrifying. Competent. Focused. Almost elemental. This version? This version watched traffic. Fed stray cats that appeared near the building. Somehow knew the weather six hours before it happened. And occasionally smiled at things nobody else noticed. Panam hated how much mental bandwidth this was consuming. --- The breakthrough came by accident. Which was fitting. Most important realizations did. Shammy stood from her chair. Walked toward the kitchen. Paused halfway. Then looked toward Panam. "You hungry?" The question should have been harmless. Completely harmless. The sort of question people asked every day. Instead Panam found herself answering instantly. "Yeah." No hesitation. No defensiveness. No automatic rejection. Just: Yeah. Shammy nodded. Then disappeared into the kitchen. Panam froze. For several seconds. Ace noticed immediately. Of course. Ace noticed everything. "What?" Panam looked over. "What what?" "The face." "What face?" "The one you're making." "I am not making a face." "You are." Mai didn't even look up. "She is." Traitors. All of them. --- Panam leaned back. Crossed her arms. Uncrossed them. Crossed them again. The realization sitting in the back of her mind was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. Not attraction. Not yet. Something earlier. Something simpler. Trust. And somehow that felt scarier. Because attraction was easy. Attraction happened. Trust was earned. Slowly. Painfully. And she was beginning to trust someone she barely knew. Or thought she barely knew. The distinction mattered. A lot. --- The kitchen smelled good. Another betrayal. Several minutes later Shammy returned carrying food. Nothing fancy. Nothing dramatic. Just food. Prepared because somebody was hungry. No debt attached. No expectation attached. No negotiation attached. Panam accepted the plate. Looked down. Then up. Then down again. The tiny gesture that followed was almost invisible. Almost. But not quite. "Thanks." The words slipped out before she could stop them. Shammy smiled. Small. Warm. Real. "You're welcome." And for some reason that simple exchange hit harder than the mechanic incident. Harder than Carol's message. Harder than anything that had happened since arriving. Because it wasn't about food. It wasn't about hospitality. It wasn't about kindness. It was about ease. The terrifying realization that being around Shammy was becoming easy. --- Across the room Ace slowly closed her book. Mai looked up from her datapad. Neither spoke. Neither needed to. The look between them lasted less than a second. A shared conclusion. The same one. Panam saw it. Immediately. "Oh no." Ace blinked. "What?" "Oh no." Mai tilted her head. "What?" Panam pointed at both of them. Accusingly. "You know something." "No." "Yes." "No." "YES." Ace looked toward Mai. Mai looked toward Ace. Then both looked back at Panam. Perfectly innocent. Perfectly calm. Perfectly impossible. And suddenly Panam Palmer had the deeply unpleasant feeling that she was the last person in the apartment to understand what was happening. Which, unfortunately, was becoming more true every day. --- ## Chapter 12 — The First Almost That evening arrived quietly. Which was becoming a pattern. Night City glowed beyond the apartment windows. Traffic painted moving rivers of light across distant streets. The apartment had settled into its usual rhythm. Mai working. Ace pretending not to nap. Shammy existing. Panam still wasn't entirely sure how the last one worked. At some point after dinner, Ace vanished. No explanation. No warning. One moment she occupied the couch. The next she didn't. Panam noticed after several minutes. "Where did the gremlin go?" Mai didn't look up. "Reyes." Panam blinked. "...just Reyes?" "Yes." "That's the explanation?" "Yes." Panam stared. Then nodded. Reasonable. Somehow. A few minutes later Mai's agent chimed. A message appeared. Mai read it. Finished her drink. Stood. Panam immediately narrowed her eyes. "What." "Nothing." "That's a lie." "No." "Where are you going?" "Kiro." Panam stared. Then looked toward the empty couch. Then toward the door. Then back at Mai. The realization arrived slowly. Painfully. Suspiciously. "Hold on." Mai paused. "Yes?" Panam pointed. "You're leaving." "Correct." "Ace left." "Also correct." Panam's eyes narrowed further. The dangerous kind. The kind Saul usually recognized two seconds before disaster. Mai watched the process unfold. Patiently. Like a scientist observing a predictable chemical reaction. "You planned this." "No." "You absolutely planned this." "No." "Yes." "No." The argument continued for nearly thirty seconds. Neither changed position. Neither changed expression. Finally: "Panam." "What?" "You are imagining things." "I'm not." "You are." "I'm not." Mai picked up her jacket. "Goodnight." And left. Just like that. The door closed. The apartment became very quiet. Panam stood in the middle of the room. Suspicious. Deeply suspicious. Because there was no way. Absolutely no way. The timing was accidental. No chance. None. Zero. Behind her came a voice. "Tea?" Panam closed her eyes. "Oh, come on." --- Twenty minutes later they were sitting on the balcony. Because apparently some cosmic force had decided that was inevitable. The city stretched beneath them. A sea of neon and movement. The air felt cooler tonight. Softer. The heat of the day finally fading. For a while neither spoke. The silence wasn't awkward anymore. That realization should probably have concerned Panam more than it did. Instead she found herself watching distant traffic. Listening to the city. Breathing. The strange thing was that she wasn't thinking about Saul. Or the camp. Or Carol's messages. For the first time in days, her brain had finally stopped grinding itself to pieces. And she knew exactly why. Which was the problem. A dangerous one. Shammy rested her elbows on the railing. Watching the horizon. Completely relaxed. As usual. Eventually Panam spoke. "You know what's annoying?" Shammy looked over. "What?" "You." A pause. Then: "Oh." The answer was so genuinely confused that Panam laughed. Again. Always laughing lately. Another problem. "That wasn't an insult." "Oh." "Stop saying oh." "Okay." "That's somehow worse." A tiny smile appeared. There. That smile again. The one Panam had started noticing far too often. Dangerous. Very dangerous. The silence returned. Comfortable. Easy. Which was exactly the issue. Panam stared out at the city. Trying to organize thoughts that refused to cooperate. Finally: "When I met you during the Navigator incident..." Shammy nodded. "...I thought you were insane." That earned an actual laugh. A quiet one. Warm. Unexpected. "Fair." "No, seriously." "I know." "You walked into that disaster like it was normal." "It wasn't normal." "It looked normal to you." Shammy thought about that. Then: "I was scared." Panam turned immediately. "What?" A small shrug. "I was scared." "No you weren't." "I was." "No." "I was." Panam stared. Because that didn't fit. At all. The image she'd carried for months simply shattered. The impossible woman from the OoP crisis. The living storm. The force of nature. Afraid? No. Impossible. Except Shammy wasn't lying. That much Panam knew instantly. The honesty was too effortless. Too natural. Too real. And suddenly something clicked. Not completely. Just enough. The terrifying woman from the crisis hadn't been fearless. She'd simply acted anyway. The distinction hit harder than expected. For a while neither spoke. The city glowed below. Wind moved through silver-white hair. Traffic continued its endless migration. And Panam found herself looking at Shammy. Not the memory. Not the myth. The person. Just... looking. Longer than intended. Long enough to notice. Shammy turned slightly. Their eyes met. Neither looked away immediately. The moment stretched. Not dramatic. Not explosive. Just present. A quiet thing. A fragile thing. The sort of thing that became obvious only after it had already happened. Panam became aware of several facts simultaneously. The distance between them. The silence. The way neither seemed particularly interested in breaking it. And the deeply inconvenient realization that she didn't want this moment to end. The thought hit. Hard. Immediate. Undeniable. And terrifying. Because now she finally understood what had been bothering her for days. The mechanic. Ace. Mai. The looks. The comments. The laughter. They weren't ahead of her anymore. Not completely. She finally saw it too. Not all of it. Not yet. But enough. Enough to be dangerous. Enough to make her pulse quicken slightly. Enough to make her wonder. And unfortunately, Shammy seemed to notice something change. Not what. Just that something had. "You okay?" The question was soft. Simple. Genuine. And somehow that made it worse. Panam laughed once. Quietly. Shook her head. Then nodded. At the same time. An answer that made absolutely no sense. Which felt appropriate. Because nothing about this made sense anymore. And for the first time since arriving in Night City, Panam Palmer found herself facing a problem she couldn't solve with a rifle, a wrench, or an argument. Which was deeply unfair. --- ## Chapter 13 — Resistance The problem with realizations was that once they arrived, they refused to leave. Panam discovered this at approximately three in the morning. Wide awake. Staring at the ceiling. Losing an argument against herself. A familiar experience. Unfortunately she was losing faster than usual. The guest room remained dark. Quiet. Comfortable. Far too comfortable. Panam rolled onto her side. Then onto her back. Then onto the other side. Nothing helped. Because the problem wasn't the room. The problem was that she now understood why Ace had been looking at her like that. Why Mai had stopped arguing. Why the mechanic had asked his question. And worst of all— Why none of it had felt entirely wrong. "Absolutely not." The ceiling remained unconvinced. Panam glared at it. The ceiling continued being a ceiling. An infuriatingly effective strategy. --- Morning arrived. Eventually. Panam had slept. Technically. Reality might have disagreed with the quality. She entered the kitchen already annoyed. Which felt much safer. Anger was familiar. Anger was useful. Anger had instructions. Feelings did not. Ace looked up immediately. Of course she did. The little menace possessed predator instincts. One glance. Then: "You slept terribly." Panam pointed. "No." "You did." "No." "You have the face." "The what?" "The face." Panam immediately looked toward Mai. "Does she just invent these?" "Frequently." Traitor. Absolute traitor. --- Coffee helped. A little. Not enough. Because Shammy arrived a few minutes later. And suddenly Panam became aware of entirely too many things. The way Shammy walked. The way she smiled. The way she said good morning. The fact that she somehow always noticed when somebody needed coffee before they asked. The fact that Panam had started noticing these things at all. A catastrophic development. Panam buried her face in her mug. The coffee offered no solutions. --- The apartment continued its normal routine. Mai worked. Ace existed in a state somewhere between vigilance and laziness. Shammy moved through the day with her usual impossible calm. And Panam found herself watching. Again. The realization hit halfway through the afternoon. Hard. She wasn't watching because she was curious anymore. She was watching because she liked watching. The thought arrived. Sat down. Refused to leave. Panam immediately attempted to evict it. Unsuccessfully. --- The message from Carol arrived at exactly the wrong moment. Which meant exactly the right one. You sound better. Panam stared. Typed. Deleted. Typed again. What makes you think that? The answer arrived instantly. Because you're arguing with me again. Panam blinked. Read it twice. Then: That's your evidence? Yes. A pause. Then another message. You stop fighting when you're actually hurt. That one landed. Hard. Because Carol knew her. Far too well. The next message followed immediately. Whoever you're staying with— Panam froze. Oh no. —not fixing you? Panam relaxed slightly. Then frowned. Slightly. What? Because that's not how you sound. Another pause. Then: You sound like somebody finally got room to breathe. The screen remained lit. Waiting. Panam didn't answer immediately. Because for once she didn't know what to say. --- That evening she found herself back on the balcony. Again. Not intentionally. At least not consciously. The city stretched beneath them. The wind carried distant traffic noise. The same railing. The same lights. The same impossible woman standing beside her. Only now the situation felt different. Because Panam knew. Not everything. Not exactly. But enough. Enough that silence carried weight now. Enough that proximity carried weight. Enough that every accidental touch suddenly became something she noticed. Dangerous. Very dangerous. For a while neither spoke. Then: "You've been thinking." Shammy's voice. Gentle. Observant. Panam laughed. A short sound. "Is it that obvious?" "A little." "Great." A pause. Then: "Sorry." Panam looked over immediately. "What?" Shammy blinked. "You seem uncomfortable." The answer was so absurdly Shammy that Panam actually had to look away. Because no normal human being apologized for noticing something. And somehow that made the entire situation worse. Not better. Worse. A lot worse. Because it made it impossible to retreat into irritation. Or defensiveness. Or anger. The usual weapons. None of them worked. Not against this. --- The city lights reflected in the balcony glass. For a moment Panam caught both of their reflections. Standing side by side. And the thought arrived again. Not forced. Not invited. Just present. The same thought from the night before. The same realization. The same impossible truth. This wasn't happening because she was lonely. Or angry. Or displaced. This wasn't Saul. This wasn't exile. This wasn't circumstance. It was Shammy. Which somehow made it infinitely more frightening. And infinitely more real. For several seconds Panam simply stood there. Looking out across Night City. Listening to distant traffic. Feeling the wind. And understanding that the problem wasn't whether something was happening anymore. The problem was what she intended to do about it. Which was unfortunate. Because Panam Palmer had never been particularly good at taking her own advice. --- ## Chapter 14 — The Problem With Subtlety The first person to notice was not Ace. Not Mai. Not even Shammy. The first person to notice was Panam. Which should have helped. It didn't. Not even a little. Because noticing the problem and solving the problem were two completely different things. Panam had spent most of her life solving practical problems. Engines. Convoys. Routes. People. Those usually had procedures. This did not. This had feelings. Which was frankly irresponsible. --- The next morning began normally. Or as normally as anything ever did in the safehouse. Coffee. Breakfast. Mai working. Ace pretending not to watch everyone. Shammy existing. The usual. Panam sat at the table. Trying very hard to act normal. This immediately failed. Because normal people did not become aware of somebody entering a room before they actually looked up. Panam did. Every time. Without exception. Which meant that when Shammy entered the kitchen carrying a mug— Panam looked up instantly. And immediately realized she'd looked up instantly. And immediately looked away. Far too quickly. The entire sequence was a disaster. Across the table, Ace lowered her coffee cup. Slowly. Dangerously. Panam pointed. Without looking. "Don't." Ace hadn't even spoken. Which somehow made it worse. --- Several minutes passed. Then: "Panam." "No." "I didn't ask anything." "No." Mai glanced up. "You are becoming predictable." Panam groaned. The traitors were multiplying. --- The real problem arrived later. The kind Panam hadn't anticipated. Because she had spent several days learning Shammyn habits. Without realizing it. The realization hit during lunch. Shammy preferred sitting near windows. Liked rain. Disliked synthetic sweeteners. Had an alarming ability to predict weather changes. Read slowly. Listened carefully. Moved quietly despite her size. And apparently collected stray cats. Panam knew all of this. The horrifying part was that she hadn't meant to learn any of it. It had simply happened. The information had accumulated. Quietly. Naturally. The way important information always did. --- That afternoon the city finally delivered rain. Not much. Just enough. Thin droplets sliding across glass. Night City briefly washing itself clean. The apartment darkened slightly. The atmosphere changed. Panam stood near the window. Watching water streak down the outside. Beside her, Shammy smiled. A small thing. Almost invisible. Yet Panam saw it immediately. "You're happy." Shammy looked over. "Hm?" "The rain." A pause. Then: "I like rain." "I noticed." The words escaped before Panam could stop them. Silence followed. Not awkward. Just... revealing. Shammy tilted her head. "You noticed?" Panam immediately regretted everything. "Oh, come on." "What?" Panam rubbed her forehead. The universe was mocking her. Again. "I mean..." She stopped. Because explaining made it worse. Shammy waited. Patiently. Always patiently. Finally: "I've been here almost a week." A small nod. "People notice things." Shammy smiled. That smile again. The dangerous one. Warm. Genuine. And somehow completely unguarded. "Fair." The conversation ended. But the damage remained. Because now Panam knew. And Shammy knew she knew. Not everything. Not yet. But enough. --- The message arrived shortly before dinner. Mitch. Panam opened it immediately. The contents were brief. As usual. Saul asked if you're alive. Panam blinked. Read it again. Then: That's not an apology. The response arrived almost instantly. No. Another message. It's Saul. Fair. Panam laughed. Against her will. Again. A third message followed. You coming back? The question lingered. Longer than expected. Panam stared at it. The answer should have been obvious. Eventually. Of course eventually. The Aldecaldos were still her family. The camp was still home. The road was still hers. None of that had changed. And yet... For the first time since leaving camp, the answer didn't arrive immediately. That realization hit harder than anything Mitch could have written. Because now there was another variable. A new one. One that hadn't existed before. --- That evening found them on the balcony again. Because apparently the universe had abandoned subtlety entirely. The city lights reflected through fresh rain. The air smelled cleaner. For once. Panam leaned against the railing. Shammy stood beside her. Close enough to hear. Far enough to leave room. The same distance as always. Only now Panam noticed it. Every time. The silence settled. Comfortable. Easy. Dangerous. Eventually Shammy spoke. "Mitch?" Panam looked over. "Hm?" "The message." A small nod. "Yeah." "Everything okay?" There it was again. The simple concern. The complete absence of pressure. The impossible honesty. Panam stared out over the city. For a long moment. Then: "He asked if I'm coming back." Shammy nodded once. No advice. No opinion. No suggestion. Just listening. The same thing she'd done from the beginning. The same thing nobody else seemed capable of doing. The wind shifted. Rain tapped softly against metal somewhere below. Night City glowed. And Panam realized something. A quiet thing. A dangerous thing. The thing she'd been avoiding for days. If she left tomorrow... she would miss this. Not the apartment. Not the city. Not the coffee. This. The balcony. The conversations. The ease. The woman standing beside her. The realization settled softly into place. Not dramatic. Not painful. Just true. And for the first time, Panam stopped trying to argue with it. Only for a moment. But it was enough. Far behind them, through the apartment window, Ace looked up from her book. Watched the balcony. Watched Panam. Watched Shammy. Then slowly closed the book. Mai glanced up. One look was enough. Neither spoke. Neither needed to. Because for the first time since Panam arrived... something had changed. And everybody in the apartment knew it. Including Panam. --- ## Chapter 15 — Everybody Knows The next morning began with a mistake. A small one. A harmless one. The kind that should have gone unnoticed. Panam woke up before everyone else. Almost everyone. The apartment remained quiet. Rain still tapped softly against the windows. Night City looked washed clean. Or as close to clean as Night City ever managed. Panam entered the kitchen. Still half asleep. Still not entirely awake. Coffee first. Existence second. A reasonable plan. The coffee machine sat ready. Somebody had already prepared everything. Of course. Shammy. Panam smiled automatically. The realization arrived half a second later. Too late. Because she wasn't alone. Ace sat on the counter. Watching. Silent. Completely motionless. Panam froze. Ace froze. The apartment froze. For several seconds neither spoke. Then: "Oh." Panam closed her eyes. "No." Ace nodded. Slowly. Dangerously. "Oh." Panam pointed. Immediately. "No." "You smiled." "No." "You did." "No." "You absolutely did." Panam considered murder. Briefly. Professionally. --- By breakfast the situation had somehow become worse. Because Ace had said absolutely nothing. Nothing. Not a single joke. Not a single comment. Not a single observation. Which was terrifying. Panam trusted active teasing. Active teasing was visible. This silence felt tactical. The sort of silence Ace used before ambushes. Mai noticed too. Unfortunately. Which meant Panam now had two problems. --- The breaking point arrived around noon. Ace sat on the couch. Reading. Or pretending to. Mai worked. Shammy occupied her usual chair. Panam lasted almost twenty minutes. Then: "What." Ace looked up. "What?" "There." "What?" "That." "What?" "The thing." Ace blinked. Perfectly innocent. Panam immediately distrusted everything. "You know." "No." "You do." "No." "You absolutely do." Ace looked toward Mai. Mai sighed. Then: "Panam." "What." "You are interrogating yourself." The realization hit. Hard. Because it was true. Panam stared. Then pointed. Accusingly. At both of them. "You are horrible." "Frequently." "Stop agreeing with that." "No." The synchronized answer nearly killed her. --- Later that afternoon the rain finally stopped. Sunlight returned. The city brightened. Life resumed. And somehow Panam found herself helping Shammy reorganize part of the safehouse storage. The task itself wasn't important. Boxes. Equipment. Supplies. Something practical. Something safe. Something that didn't require feelings. The ideal activity. Unfortunately it involved Shammy. Which immediately reduced safety margins. Several minutes passed comfortably. Dangerously comfortably. Then: "Panam?" "Hm?" Shammy held up a small container. "Keep?" The question should have been simple. Instead Panam found herself looking at Shammy. Not the container. Not the shelf. Shammy. Again. The dangerous habit. Again. Several seconds passed. Then Shammy blinked. Slowly. "...Panam?" Panam immediately looked away. "Oh for—" The universe clearly hated her. --- That evening Mitch finally called. Not a message. A call. Actual voice. Panam answered immediately. Mitch's face appeared on the screen. Tired. Amused. Concerned. The usual. "Hey." "Hey." For several seconds neither spoke. Then Mitch grinned. And Panam immediately knew disaster was coming. "What." "Nothing." "Mitch." "Nothing." "Mitch." The grin widened. "Carol says hi." Panam narrowed her eyes. Dangerously. "Mitch." "Carol also says you're staying longer than expected." Silence. Absolute silence. Because there was no answer that wasn't self-incriminating. Mitch's grin became unbearable. Then: "Good." The word landed unexpectedly. Panam blinked. "What?" "Good." The grin faded. Something gentler replacing it. Something older. Something closer to family. "You needed it." Panam looked away. Toward the balcony. Toward the city. Toward the apartment. Toward the life she'd accidentally stepped into. For a moment she didn't answer. Then: "...maybe." Mitch smiled. The real one this time. Not teasing. Not joking. Just happy. "Yeah." A pause. Then: "Carol was right." "What." "You sound better." The line remained quiet. No pressure. No lecture. No demands. Just truth. The same kind she'd been running into ever since arriving. Eventually Mitch sighed. "We miss you." There it was. The thing underneath everything. The thing that mattered. Panam closed her eyes briefly. "Yeah." "We know." Another pause. Then: "Come back when you're ready." The same words as before. Only this time spoken aloud. And somehow that made them heavier. "Yeah." Mitch nodded. The call ended. The screen went dark. And Panam sat there for a long moment afterward. Thinking. Not about Saul. Not about the camp. Not about the road. About timing. Because for the first time since arriving... leaving no longer felt simple. And that was a problem. A very real one. --- Across the room Ace watched quietly. Mai watched quietly. Shammy watched quietly. Three different reasons. Three different understandings. One shared conclusion. The decision was coming. Soon. And whether Panam was ready or not... everybody knew it. Including her. --- ## Chapter 16 — The Road Calling The message arrived the next morning. Not from Mitch. Not from Carol. From Saul. Which somehow made it worse. Panam stared at the notification. For nearly thirty seconds. The apartment was quiet. Coffee steamed gently from her mug. Outside, Night City was already awake. Inside, Panam suddenly wasn't. The message remained unopened. Waiting. Heavy. Unpleasant. Inevitable. Across the room Ace noticed immediately. Of course. Predator instincts. Again. "You going to read it?" "No." Ace nodded. Reasonable. Three seconds later: "You should read it." Panam pointed. Without looking up. "No." --- Eventually curiosity won. Or responsibility. Or guilt. Panam wasn't sure which. She opened the message. It was shorter than expected. That somehow made it hit harder. Need to talk. Call when ready. — Saul Nothing else. No apology. No accusation. No lecture. Just that. Panam stared. Read it again. Then again. The absence of anger felt stranger than anger would have. Because anger she understood. This... This felt uncertain. And Saul hated uncertainty. --- The rest of the day felt different. Subtly. Almost invisibly. But different. The decision she'd been avoiding suddenly had shape. Weight. Direction. Because eventually there would be a call. Eventually there would be a conversation. Eventually there would be a road leading home. The realization followed her all afternoon. Quietly. Relentlessly. --- By evening she found herself on the balcony again. Naturally. At this point it might as well have been assigned seating. The city glowed below. The air carried traces of rain. Shammy stood beside her. As usual. For several minutes neither spoke. The silence felt different tonight. Not uncomfortable. Just aware. The sort of silence that knew something was approaching. Eventually Panam held up her agent. "The old man finally messaged." Shammy glanced over. "Saul?" "Yeah." A small nod. "What did he say?" Panam handed over the screen. Shammy read. Then handed it back. Nothing dramatic. No analysis. No judgment. Just understanding. Again. Always. The consistency of it was becoming alarming. "What do you think?" The question escaped before Panam could stop it. And that alone was enough to surprise her. Because she wasn't asking for advice. She was asking _Shammy_. The distinction mattered. A lot. Shammy looked out over the city. Thinking. Actually thinking. Not searching for the right answer. Searching for an honest one. Finally: "I think he misses you." The answer landed softly. Which somehow made it hit harder. Panam looked away. Toward the lights. Toward the horizon. Anywhere else. Because the annoying thing was— She believed that. --- Several moments passed. Then: "I'll probably have to go back." The words felt strange. Real. Final. Shammy nodded once. No hesitation. No attempt to stop her. No selfishness. Nothing. Just acceptance. Which immediately hurt more than opposition would have. Panam frowned. Deeply. "You're supposed to argue." Shammy blinked. "What?" "You're supposed to tell me to stay." "Oh." A pause. Then: "Do you want me to?" The question hit like a freight train. Because it wasn't manipulation. Wasn't pressure. Wasn't strategy. It was a genuine question. And Panam suddenly realized she had no safe answer. If she said yes... that meant something. If she said no... that also meant something. The universe had become unfair again. --- For several seconds neither spoke. The city moved below. Lights flickered. Traffic flowed. Life continued. Panam looked down into her cooling coffee. Then out at the horizon. Then finally at Shammy. The silver-haired woman stood there exactly as she always did. Calm. Patient. Present. The same person she'd spent days trying not to think about. And failing. Spectacularly. The realization settled quietly into place. There wasn't going to be a perfect moment. There wasn't going to be a convenient answer. There wasn't going to be a version of this that wasn't frightening. Which was unfortunate. Because Panam preferred plans. This wasn't a plan. This was a leap. --- "I don't know." The answer arrived softly. Honest. More honest than Panam usually allowed herself to be. Shammy smiled. Small. Warm. Understanding. "I know." And somehow that made everything easier. And infinitely harder. At the same time. --- Behind them, inside the apartment, Ace slowly lowered her book. Mai glanced up from her datapad. The balcony door remained closed. Neither moved. Neither interrupted. Neither would. Because for the first time since Panam arrived at the safehouse... this wasn't theirs anymore. The road ahead belonged to Panam. And perhaps, for the first time, to Shammy too. Outside, Night City shimmered beneath the stars. And somewhere far beyond the city lights... the Badlands waited. So did Saul. So did the Aldecaldos. But for the first time in her life, Panam Palmer wasn't thinking only about where she came from. She was thinking about what she might be leaving behind. And that realization changed everything. --- ## Chapter 17 — Departure Vector The call with Saul happened the next day. Not because Panam wanted it to. Because eventually excuses ran out. The apartment remained quiet. Morning sunlight spilled through the windows. Coffee existed. Shammy existed. Both had become problems. Panam sat at the kitchen table. Agent in hand. Staring at Saul's message. Again. Ace passed through the room. Saw the screen. Kept walking. Then: "You're doing it again." Panam didn't look up. "No." "You are." "No." "You've read that twelve times." Panam frowned. "...twelve?" Ace shrugged. "Approximately." The annoying thing was that she was probably close. --- The call connected. Immediately. Of course. Saul had probably been carrying the agent around for days. Waiting. The screen flickered. Then stabilized. For several seconds neither spoke. Saul looked tired. Older. Not physically. Emotionally. The sort of tired that accumulated when pride and regret occupied the same room for too long. Panam knew the feeling. Too well. Neither seemed eager to begin. Finally: "You alive?" Panam blinked. Then laughed. A short, disbelieving sound. Because somehow that was the first thing Saul chose to say. "Yeah." A nod. "Good." Silence. Again. Then: "The suspension okay?" Panam stared. "What?" "The truck." "The truck?" "The truck." The absurdity of it finally cracked something. Panam laughed. Actually laughed. Saul followed a second later. The tension didn't disappear. But it shifted. Just enough. Enough to breathe. --- The conversation lasted nearly an hour. Not dramatic. Not explosive. No screaming. No ultimatums. Just two stubborn people slowly backing away from a cliff neither intended to jump from. Nobody apologized immediately. That would have been unrealistic. Instead they circled. Talked. Argued. Agreed. Disagreed. Repeated the process. Eventually Saul sighed. The long kind. The important kind. "I went too far." There it was. Not elegant. Not polished. Not perfect. Just real. Panam looked away from the screen. Toward the city. Toward the apartment. Toward the life she'd accidentally stepped into. Then: "Yeah." Saul snorted. "That's all I get?" "Do you want honesty or diplomacy?" "No." "Then yeah." For the first time all call, Saul smiled. Small. But genuine. "Fair." --- When the call ended, Panam remained sitting at the table. The apartment felt strangely quiet. Not because anything was wrong. Because something had finally stopped hurting. A wound beginning to close. Slowly. Naturally. The way real ones did. The balcony door slid open. Shammy stepped inside. Coffee in hand. Of course. Panam looked up. For a moment neither spoke. Then: "Better?" The question was simple. The answer wasn't. Because Saul wasn't the whole reason she'd been hurting anymore. And hadn't been for several days. Still: "Yeah." Shammy smiled. That smile. Again. Always that smile. Panam was beginning to suspect it violated local safety regulations. --- The call changed things. Not immediately. But enough. Now there was a road home. A real one. No longer theoretical. No longer distant. A decision with a horizon attached. And everybody knew it. Including Panam. Including Shammy. Neither mentioned it. Not directly. --- That evening the safehouse felt different. Not sad. Not tense. Aware. The sort of atmosphere that formed when something was ending. Or beginning. Sometimes both. Dinner happened. Conversation happened. The city continued existing outside. Life moved forward. Relentlessly. Eventually Ace stood. Stretched. Looked around the room. Then announced: "I'm leaving." Panam immediately narrowed her eyes. "No." Ace blinked. "What?" "No." Mai looked up from her datapad. Interested. Very interested. Panam pointed. "You are not doing this." "Doing what?" "The thing." "What thing?" "The disappearing thing." Ace looked toward Mai. Mai looked toward Ace. The betrayal was instantaneous. "Oh." Panam stood. "Oh no." Mai calmly closed the datapad. "I also have plans." Panam stared. Horror slowly dawning. "No." "Yes." "No." "Yes." The argument continued for nearly a minute. It accomplished absolutely nothing. Which was expected. --- Ten minutes later the apartment door closed behind both of them. Silence. Absolute silence. Panam stood in the middle of the living room. Hands on hips. Looking at the door. Then at Shammy. Then back at the door. Then back at Shammy. The realization arrived. Slowly. Inevitably. They had been abandoned. Deliberately. Professionally. With planning. Possibly spreadsheets. Mai was involved. Definitely spreadsheets. --- Shammy considered the situation. Then: "Tea?" Panam stared. For several seconds. Then started laughing. Because honestly? At this point what else was there to do? And for the first time since arriving at the safehouse... the future felt close enough to touch. Which was exciting. And terrifying. Mostly terrifying. --- ## Chapter 18 — The First Almost The apartment felt different without Ace and Mai. Not empty. Just... larger. The absence was noticeable. Like removing background music and suddenly realizing it had been there all along. Panam sat on the couch. A mug resting between her hands. Across the room Shammy occupied her usual chair. The city glowed beyond the windows. Night settled over Night City. The apartment settled with it. For a while neither spoke. The silence wasn't awkward anymore. That realization should probably have worried Panam. Instead she found it comforting. Which was somehow worse. --- Eventually: "They absolutely planned this." Shammy blinked. "Hm?" "Ace and Mai." "Oh." A pause. Then: "Probably." Panam stared. "Probably?" "They looked coordinated." Panam laughed. The answer was so perfectly Shammy that resistance became impossible. "Looked coordinated." A small nod. "Mm." "That's your analysis?" "Yes." Panam shook her head. Smiling despite herself. Again. Always smiling lately. Another problem. --- The conversation drifted. Like it always did. Roads. Weather. The camp. The city. Little things. Unimportant things. The sort of topics that somehow became important when shared with the right person. Hours slipped by. Neither noticed. Neither cared. --- At some point they ended up on the balcony. Again. Because apparently that was simply where important conversations happened now. The city stretched beneath them. Lights. Movement. Life. The endless pulse of Night City. Panam rested her arms on the railing. Watching traffic below. Thinking. Not thinking. Trying not to think. The usual. Beside her Shammy stood quietly. Close. Not too close. Close enough. The familiar distance. The dangerous distance. --- "You know..." The words escaped before Panam fully decided to say them. Shammy looked over. "What?" Panam hesitated. A rare event. An alarming one. Then: "I'm glad I called." The truth settled between them. Simple. Honest. Undeniable. Shammy smiled. Small. Warm. The smile Panam had spent days trying not to notice. And failing. Spectacularly. "I'm glad you did too." The answer arrived without hesitation. Without calculation. Without defense. Just truth. Again. Always truth. --- The city lights reflected faintly in Shammy's eyes. Panam noticed. Of course she noticed. She noticed everything now. The realization should have embarrassed her. Instead it just felt inevitable. For several seconds neither looked away. The moment stretched. Quietly. Naturally. No dramatic music. No cinematic thunder. Just two people standing on a balcony. Looking at each other. And understanding more than they had a week ago. Much more. --- Panam felt her pulse quicken slightly. Dangerous. Very dangerous. Because now she knew exactly what the problem was. And exactly why it scared her. The road always moved. The camp always moved. Life always moved. Nothing stayed. Nothing waited. Nothing promised. But somehow... for the first time in a long time... she wanted something to stay. The thought hit hard. Hard enough to make breathing slightly more complicated. --- Shammy noticed something shift. Not what. Just that something had. The same way she'd noticed everything else. "You okay?" There it was again. That question. Always genuine. Never intrusive. Never demanding. Just present. Panam laughed softly. Looked away toward the city. Then back again. Because running from the moment suddenly felt pointless. Not impossible. Just pointless. "Yeah." A pause. Then: "No." The honesty surprised both of them. --- For a second neither moved. The city continued below. Traffic flowed. Life went on. The universe remained entirely indifferent. Which was rude. Because this felt important. --- Shammy stepped slightly closer. Not much. Barely half a step. Enough. Not enough. The space between them suddenly felt very small. Very noticeable. Very real. Panam became aware of every centimeter of it. The wind. The lights. The silence. Her own heartbeat. Everything. All at once. --- And then— The apartment door opened. Loudly. Violently. Without warning. Ace's voice echoed through the apartment. "We forgot our jackets." Panam nearly jumped off the balcony. Inside came Mai's immediate reply: "I told you we forgot our jackets." "I thought you meant tomorrow." "That is not how jackets work." Panam buried her face in one hand. Shammy blinked. Then laughed. Actually laughed. The warm, bright kind. The kind Panam had only heard a few times. And suddenly the tension shattered. Not ruined. Not broken. Just interrupted. The moment remained. Still there. Still waiting. Still unfinished. --- Inside the apartment Ace appeared in the balcony doorway. Looked at Panam. Looked at Shammy. Looked at the distance between them. Then very slowly looked away. Immediately. Professionally. Like a person discovering classified information. "I saw nothing." Panam pointed. Wordlessly. Murderously. Ace raised both hands. "I saw absolutely nothing." Mai appeared behind her. One glance. That was all. One glance. And somehow Mai understood everything. Of course she did. --- The jackets were recovered. The damage was done. The universe had intervened. Again. As usual. --- Several minutes later the door closed behind them for the second time. Silence returned. Panam looked toward the balcony railing. Then toward Shammy. Then toward the closed door. Then back again. Finally: "...I think they did that on purpose." Shammy thought about it. Seriously. Actually thought about it. Then: "The jackets?" Panam laughed so hard she had to lean on the railing. And just like that, the moment became something else. Not less important. Not less real. Just theirs. Still unfinished. Still growing. Still waiting. The first almost. Not the last. Not even close. --- ## Chapter 19 — After The Almost The apartment remained suspiciously quiet after the jacket incident. Not normal quiet. Embarrassed quiet. The sort of silence that arrived after reality tripped over its own feet. Panam stood on the balcony. Looking outward. Because looking at Night City was considerably safer than looking anywhere else. Especially beside her. The city glowed beneath them. Traffic moved. Lights shifted. Life continued. Oblivious. Lucky thing. --- Several minutes passed. Neither spoke. Not because they had nothing to say. Because they suddenly had too much. The difference mattered. A lot. Eventually Panam laughed. Quietly. To herself. Shammy looked over. "What?" Panam shook her head. "Nothing." A pause. Then: "No." Another pause. Then: "Actually, that's a lie." Shammy waited. Patiently. Always patiently. Panam wasn't sure whether that quality should be classified as comforting or weaponized. Probably both. --- "Ace is impossible." The statement felt safe. Neutral territory. Manageable. Shammy nodded immediately. "Yes." The immediate agreement nearly made Panam laugh again. "You didn't even think about it." "I didn't need to." Fair. Entirely fair. --- The wind shifted. Cooler now. Night air replacing the last traces of daytime heat. For a while they simply watched the city. Then Panam spoke again. Softer this time. More thoughtful. "You know what the worst part is?" Shammy looked over. "What?" "I think she was actually trying not to interfere." That earned a blink. Then another. Then: "Oh." Panam pointed immediately. "There." "What?" "That." "What?" "The thing." Shammy looked genuinely confused. Again. Somehow still possible. Panam laughed. The universe had a sense of humor. A terrible one. --- The silence returned. Comfortable. Dangerous. The familiar combination. Eventually Panam leaned back against the railing. Arms folded. Thinking. Because apparently that was happening now. The realization arrived slowly. Then all at once. A week ago she would have left immediately. Three days ago she would have left reluctantly. Now? Now she was actively looking for reasons to stay. The thought landed. Hard. Because it was true. And Panam Palmer hated losing arguments against reality. --- "I should probably go back soon." The words came quietly. Not because she wanted them to. Because they needed to exist. Shammy nodded once. The movement was small. Almost invisible. But Panam saw it. Of course she saw it. She saw everything now. The dangerous habit. Again. And for the first time, she noticed something unexpected. The nod looked calm. The eyes didn't. Only for a second. A fraction of a second. A tiny flicker. Disappointment. Gone almost immediately. But real. Panam froze. Because suddenly the entire situation changed. Not dramatically. Not visibly. Internally. For the first time since arriving... this wasn't only happening to her. --- The realization sat between them. Quietly. Neither acknowledged it. Neither needed to. Because once seen, it couldn't be unseen. The same way Panam couldn't unsee her own feelings anymore. Now she couldn't unsee Shammyn's either. Not completely. Not perfectly. But enough. Enough to matter. --- For several long moments neither moved. The city hummed below. The balcony lights cast soft reflections across the glass. The distance between them remained exactly the same. Only now it felt smaller. Somehow. The sort of thing that made no physical sense. Yet perfect emotional sense. --- Finally: "Panam?" The voice was soft. Careful. The kind of tone people used when approaching something fragile. "Yeah?" A pause. A real one. The longest Panam had ever heard from Shammy. Then: "...I'm glad you called." The world stopped. Not literally. It felt like it. Traffic continued. Wind continued. The city continued. Panam simply stopped noticing. Because suddenly all the air seemed occupied. The sentence wasn't dramatic. Wasn't romantic. Wasn't a confession. It was worse. It was honest. Completely honest. And somehow that made it hit harder than anything else so far. --- Panam looked away. Toward the city. Toward the lights. Toward anything that wasn't the woman beside her. Then laughed softly. Because honestly? What else was there to do? "Yeah." A pause. Then: "Me too." The answer felt small. Insufficient. Pathetically inadequate. And yet somehow exactly right. --- Behind them the apartment remained empty. Ace and Mai finally gone for real. No interruptions. No jackets. No cosmic sabotage. Just two people standing on a balcony. Looking at a city neither of them particularly trusted. And quietly understanding that something important had happened. Not finished. Not completed. Not defined. But real. And for now... that was enough. --- Far away in the Badlands, Saul was waiting. The Aldecaldos were waiting. The road was waiting. Eventually Panam would go back. She knew it. Shammy knew it. Everybody knew it. But for tonight... for one more night... the future could wait. And for the first time since leaving camp, Panam found herself hoping the night would last a little longer. --- ## Chapter 20 — One More Night The next morning arrived far too quickly. Panam immediately disliked it. The sun had no business showing up that early. The universe remained indifferent to her opinion. As usual. She woke before her alarm. Before the city. Before most of the apartment. And immediately became aware of one uncomfortable fact. The decision was waiting. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Now. Soon. Real. The road had appeared on the horizon. And once Panam saw it, she couldn't pretend otherwise. --- Coffee helped. Marginally. The kitchen sat quiet beneath soft morning light. Panam stood alone for several minutes. Thinking. Not thinking. Losing arguments against herself. The usual. Eventually footsteps approached. She didn't need to look. Didn't need to hear. Didn't need confirmation. The realization annoyed her immediately. Shammy. Of course. --- "Morning." "Morning." The exchange felt familiar now. Comfortable. Dangerous. The usual. Shammy moved toward the coffee machine. Panam watched. Again. The dangerous habit. Again. At this point resistance had become largely symbolic. --- For a while neither spoke. Then: "When are you leaving?" The question arrived gently. No pressure. No expectation. Just reality. Panam stared into her coffee. Longer than necessary. Then: "Soon." A small nod. The answer accepted immediately. No argument. No request. No attempt to negotiate. Which somehow made it harder. Again. Always harder. --- The day passed strangely. Not badly. Not sadly. Just... aware. Everybody knew. Nobody said it. The apartment moved through its normal rhythm. Mai worked. Ace existed. Shammy existed. Panam existed. And underneath everything sat the same unspoken understanding. Soon. --- That afternoon another message arrived from Mitch. Short. Simple. Classic Mitch. Camp's calmer. Saul's pretending he wasn't worried. Nobody believes him. Panam smiled despite herself. The smile lingered longer than expected. Because she could picture it. Perfectly. Saul attempting dignity. The camp refusing cooperation. The usual. Home. --- Home. The word landed differently now. Not because it had changed. Because another place had quietly joined it. The realization arrived. Sat down. Refused to leave. Panam hated it immediately. --- By evening the city glowed gold beneath the setting sun. The apartment windows caught fire with reflected light. Everything looked softer. Almost peaceful. A suspicious development. Panam found herself on the balcony again. Naturally. At this point fate was no longer subtle. Beside her stood Shammy. Naturally. Also fate. --- The city stretched endlessly below. Traffic flowed. Advertisements flickered. Night City performed its nightly transformation into something almost beautiful. Almost. Not quite. --- For several minutes they simply watched. Then: "I'm leaving tomorrow." There. The sentence existed now. Real. Spoken. Impossible to take back. Shammy didn't look surprised. Of course she wasn't. Everybody had known. Still. Something changed once the words became real. A tiny shift. A small silence. A deeper awareness. The difference between expectation and certainty. --- "Okay." The answer came softly. Steadily. The same way everything from Shammy arrived. Panam laughed quietly. Not because anything was funny. Because otherwise she'd have to deal with the feeling directly. And that seemed irresponsible. --- "You know..." Shammy looked over. "What?" Panam hesitated. A dangerous habit she was developing. Then: "This wasn't supposed to happen." A pause. Then: "What wasn't?" Panam gestured vaguely. Everything. The apartment. The week. The conversations. The balcony. The city. Them. All of it. --- For the first time in days Shammy looked genuinely uncertain. Not confused. Not lost. Uncertain. Which somehow made the moment feel even more real. Finally: "No." A small smile. Then: "I don't think it was." The answer hit perfectly. Because it was true. Neither of them had planned this. Neither had chased it. Neither had forced it. It had simply... happened. --- The city lights began appearing one by one. Night arriving. Slowly. Patiently. The way important things usually did. For a while neither spoke. The silence no longer felt empty. It felt full. The kind that appeared when words weren't quite enough. --- Eventually Panam looked out across Night City. Then toward the distant darkness beyond it. Toward the Badlands. Toward home. And for the first time since leaving the camp... the idea of returning no longer felt like running toward something. It felt like leaving something behind. A small difference. A massive one. --- Beside her, Shammy leaned lightly against the railing. The city reflected in silver-blue eyes. Calm. Warm. Present. And Panam found herself memorizing the image. Without meaning to. Without planning to. Without permission. The kind of thing people did when they already knew they would miss someone. --- Neither said it. Not tonight. Not yet. But both knew. And somehow... that was enough. For now. --- ## Chapter 21 — The Comet Leaves Morning arrived quietly. No rain. No storms. No dramatic skies. Just sunlight. Clean and indifferent. The sort of morning that refused to acknowledge anything important was happening. Panam hated it immediately. The universe should have at least made an effort. --- The bag waited beside the door. This time nobody pretended not to notice it. The vehicle had already been loaded. Coffee had already happened. Breakfast had happened. The apartment felt strangely normal. Which somehow made everything harder. Nobody was making speeches. Nobody was being dramatic. Nobody was pretending this was forever. Because it wasn't. That was the point. --- Ace sat on the couch. Watching. Not teasing. Not today. Mai occupied her usual chair. Datapad forgotten for once. And Shammy... Shammy stood near the window. Quiet. The same way she always stood near windows. The same way she'd stood a hundred times during the last week. Panam hated how familiar the image had become. --- The silence lasted longer than usual. Eventually Ace stood. Crossed the room. Stopped in front of Panam. For a second Panam expected a joke. A comment. Some last piece of ammunition. Instead Ace simply held out a hand. Panam looked at it. Then at Ace. Then shook it. Firmly. Once. The way professionals did. The way friends did. The way people who understood each other did. Ace nodded. "Don't get shot." Panam laughed. "There it is." "There what is?" "The real goodbye." Ace smirked. Tiny. Dangerous. Familiar. --- Mai came next. No handshake. No speeches. No emotional ambush. Just a brief hug. Quick. Efficient. Entirely Mai. Then: "Call before you start another civil war." Panam stared. Then laughed. Hard enough that it surprised both of them. "Fair." Mai nodded. "Very." --- The apartment relaxed slightly afterward. As if some invisible threshold had finally been crossed. The easy part finished. Only one thing remained. And unfortunately everybody knew it. --- Ace suddenly looked at the clock. Far too dramatically. "Oh wow." Panam narrowed her eyes. Immediately. Danger. "We need groceries." "What?" Mai stood. Instantly. "Yes." Panam pointed. "No." Ace pointed back. "Yes." "No." "Yes." The argument lasted approximately four seconds. Then both women grabbed jackets. Moved toward the door. And completely ignored reality. --- "Ace." "No." "Mai." "No." "You are literally leaving." "We need groceries." "You bought groceries yesterday." Ace froze. Just briefly. Then: "We need future groceries." Panam stared. The explanation somehow made less sense than no explanation. --- The apartment door closed. Silence followed. Absolute silence. Again. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours. Panam looked at the door. Then at Shammy. Then back at the door. Then back at Shammy. Finally: "...future groceries?" A pause. Then: "I don't think that's a thing." Panam laughed. The tension cracked slightly. Not enough. But enough. --- The city waited outside. The vehicle waited below. The road waited beyond the city. Everything was ready. Except them. Unfortunately reality rarely cared. --- For a while neither spoke. The apartment felt larger again. The same way it had yesterday. Only now there was a countdown attached. Eventually Panam picked up her bag. The motion felt heavier than it should have. Shammy watched quietly. Not trying to stop her. Not trying to change anything. Just present. The same way she'd been present from the beginning. And somehow that made everything harder. Again. Always harder. --- The elevator ride down was short. Far too short. The lobby. The street. The vehicle. All arriving too quickly. Panam set the bag inside. Closed the passenger door. And suddenly there were no more practical tasks left. No distractions. No excuses. Just reality. Standing a few feet away. Silver hair catching morning sunlight. Hands in jacket pockets. Watching. Waiting. --- The city noise faded into the background. Not literally. Just emotionally. For a moment the world narrowed. A street. A vehicle. Two people. And several things neither of them quite knew how to say. --- "I'm glad I called." The words came first. Simple. Honest. The same truth she'd spoken before. But heavier now. Because this time she was leaving. --- Shammy smiled. Small. Warm. The smile. Always the smile. "I'm glad you did too." --- For several seconds neither moved. The silence stretched. Not awkward. Not uncertain. Just full. The sort of silence that contained entire conversations. --- Then Panam stepped forward. Not much. Just enough. A decision. A small one. A real one. The kind that mattered. And before she could overthink it— before she could argue with herself— before reality could interfere— she leaned forward. A brief kiss. Soft. Quick. Barely more than a heartbeat. And then it was over. --- The world stopped. For approximately two seconds. Maybe three. --- Panam immediately stepped back. Because of course she did. Panic management protocol. Classic Panam. --- Shammy blinked. Once. Twice. Clearly processing. The poor woman had just been hit by a Panam. A rare but documented weather event. --- Several seconds passed. Then: "Oh." Panam buried her face in one hand. Immediately. Catastrophically. "Oh?" Shammy considered. Seriously. Thoughtfully. Then smiled. The real smile. The bright one. The dangerous one. "Oh." --- Panam laughed. Because honestly? What else was there to do? --- Across the street, hidden behind a food vendor's sign, Mitch lowered a pair of binoculars. Carol stood beside him. Arms folded. Smiling. Neither looked particularly surprised. --- Mitch nodded once. Slowly. "Well." Carol nodded. "Yep." Another pause. Then Mitch looked toward the sky. Toward the road. Toward the city. Toward the woman climbing into her vehicle. And smiled. --- "Looks like Panam finally found something she needed." Carol's smile softened. Just slightly. Watching Shammy wave as the vehicle pulled away. Watching Panam glance back once. Only once. But enough. More than enough. --- "Yeah." The engine started. The vehicle rolled forward. The city opened ahead. The Badlands waited beyond. And like every comet before it— Panam Palmer disappeared toward the horizon. Leaving a trail behind her. And promising, without a single word, that one day she would return.