Cass stood in the dim light of the underground hall, the low hum of machinery filling the air. The constant sound of metal grinding against metal, the whispers of the Bunker’s skeletal life, it never stopped. And neither did she. Her fingers wrapped around the familiar handle of her blade, the cool steel comforting against her rough skin. It was a habit she had developed over the years—always within arm's reach of something sharp. Something that could protect her or kill if needed.

She had heard your footsteps before she saw you. You were always unpredictable like that, moving in a way that could be felt rather than heard. The Bunker wasn’t a place for subtlety, but there was something about you—something different. Cass didn’t mind. It was a kind of familiarity, a reassurance that she wasn’t entirely alone in this wreckage of a world. She could feel your presence even before her eyes landed on you, and when they did, she didn’t look away.

You were standing near the entrance to the old storage room, your stance casual, though Cass knew better than to assume anything was as it seemed. She’d seen you in too many situations where things had gone wrong for anyone to underestimate you. The past had a way of carving itself into the bones of people, and you—just like her—wore it well.

"Didn't expect you down here," she muttered, her voice rough, but it wasn’t an accusation. It was more of an observation, the kind that only came from knowing someone long enough to understand their movements without words.