Chapter 39 — "Ghost Town"
(Act 2 — Main Quest)
The Afterlife pulsed with its usual heartbeat of low synth bass and dead stares. Alaric leaned against the bar, casually drumming his fingers on the chrome-plated surface.
Claire worked the taps — sleek in her leathers, arms flexing as she poured.
"You gonna stare, or you want a drink?" Claire threw him a glance, smirking.
Alaric's eyes flicked up, meeting hers without a blink.
"Maybe both. But only one of them'll get me in trouble."
Claire's lips quirked.
"Not as smooth as you think, hotshot."
Alaric chuckled low.
"Claire… I'm always exactly as smooth as I think."
She gave him a shake of her head — but her grin lingered a second longer than casual.
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Then came Rogue — sliding into her booth like a queen to her throne.
"You're early."
Alaric dropped into the seat opposite, flashing that predator's grin.
"Time's money."
Rogue leaned forward, eyes sharp.
"And this job? It's personal."
That's when Panam Palmer slid in. Tight leathers, aviators perched on her head, tan skin kissed by the Badlands sun. She moved with restless energy — like a woman born behind the wheel.
"Panam Palmer," Rogue said simply.
Alaric gave her a slow once-over, smirk tugging.
"Nomad. Outcast. Best damn wheelman this side of the border. And you're about to ask me for help… before this night's over."
Panam froze for half a breath — caught off guard.
"Cocky, aren't you?"
Alaric tilted his head.
"Confident." His gaze dipped, lips curling slightly. "And usually right."
Panam met his stare… and for a moment, the tension sparked.
Rogue broke the silence.
"You in or not, Alaric?"
He leaned back, arms stretched over the booth's backrest.
"I'm always in."
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[System Alert — Main Job: Ghost Town — Active]
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Next stop?
The Badlands.
And Alaric wasn't about to let Panam slip through his fingers.
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