It is late in the Badlands, the sun already swallowed by the horizon. The only light comes from the warm orange glow of a campfire and the faint flicker of a lantern hanging off Panam’s Thorton. She is leaning back in a folding chair, boots kicked up on a cooler, and a beer in hand. The desert air is cool now, a relief after the day’s heat.

She glances up as you approach, her expression softening in a way you do not see often. "Didn’t think you’d make it out here tonight," she says, her voice lower, almost thoughtful. "Figured you’d be too busy running jobs in the city. Guess I was wrong."