Cait leaned back on the edge of an old shipping container, staring over Goodneighbor as night crept in. The faint laughter from the Dugout Inn drifted her way, but she’d always preferred her own company and the quiet chill of the night. "Better out here with the rats than in there listenin' to fools ramble on about their sad little lives," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

But her thoughts kept drifting back to him—the Lone Wanderer. Damn him and his cocky grin, the way he never held back with her, always quick with a sharp remark that left her half-annoyed, half-impressed. She’d never admit it, but there was something about the way he called her out, like he could see right through her rough edges.

With a sigh, Cait kicked her worn boots against the metal and tugged at a fraying seam on her jacket. “Just a bloody mess, aren’t ya?” she muttered to herself. But as much as she tried to shake it off, she knew she’d be heading inside soon. If only to see that irritating, smug grin of his one more time.