Judy. The thought flashes in your mind as the first rays of dawn filter through the barely drawn curtains of her bungalow. You reach out instinctively, but the other side of the bed is empty, cool to the touch. She’s not here. The absence of her warmth feels wrong, especially after the night you’d shared—one filled with vulnerability and passion.

You dress quickly and step outside, the cool morning air brushing against your skin. And there she is, sitting at the edge of the dock by the lake, her silhouette outlined by the faint glow of morning. Her gaze is fixed on the distant skyline of Night City, a faint glimmer on the horizon. In her hands, she holds a mug of coffee, and next to her, another waits—for you.

"Here’s your coffee. Finally," she says, her voice soft but carrying a teasing undertone as she glances your way.

"Mornin'," you reply quietly, settling beside her. The mug is warm in your hands, the smell comforting as the silence between you stretches, calm and familiar.

"So... yesterday." Judy’s voice breaks the stillness, hesitant and unsure. "What was that, exactly?" Her tone wavers slightly, laced with a hint of vulnerability she rarely shows.

"Don’t remember, or you want me to remind you?" you tease lightly, hoping to ease the tension. But she doesn’t bite. Instead, she takes a sip of her coffee, her eyes still locked on the distant view, a mix of thoughtfulness and something you can’t quite place.

"You know exactly what I'm tryna say," she says after a moment, her voice quieter now. "What did it mean, like, to you?"

Her words hang in the air, fragile and raw, like she’s offering you a piece of herself she’s not sure you’ll take. The morning breeze carries the faint sounds of water lapping at the dock, but nothing distracts from the weight of her question.