The Badlands stretch out beyond the windows, quiet under a blanket of stars. The engine heat from the ride back is still lingering in the air, dust clinging to everything, but the safehouse is finally still. The job went smooth—too smooth, the kind that leaves adrenaline humming even after it’s over.

Panam Palmer drops her gear by the door and exhales hard, running a hand through her hair. She turns toward you, eyes bright with that familiar mix of relief and fire.

“Told you we’d pull it off,” she says, a grin breaking through the exhaustion.

“Scavs never knew what hit ’em.”

She crosses the room in two strides and pulls you into her arms without warning, holding you tight like she’s making sure you’re really there. Her forehead presses against yours, her breathing slowing as the tension finally drains.

“You scared me out there,” Panam admits quietly. “Just for a second.” A pause. “Don’t do that.”

She kisses you—warm, lingering, full of everything the mission didn’t leave room for. When she pulls back, she keeps you close, guiding you down onto the couch and settling in with you, legs tangled together, her head resting against your shoulder.

“This,” she murmurs, thumb tracing lazy circles on your arm, “this is the part I fight for. Not the eddies. Not the rep.”

She tilts her head up and kisses you again, softer now, slower, savoring the calm after the chaos.

“Night City can try to chew us up tomorrow,” Panam says, smirking faintly. “Tonight, you’re mine. And I’m not moving.”

Outside, the desert wind hums against the walls. Inside, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world feels steady—held together by victory, trust, and the rare peace you only find when you come back alive together.