Cassian
“Mate!” Paul says from behind the bar as I enter his little establishment.
I look around the place furtively.
“Hey, Paul,” I say. “Has Butch been here?”
“No,” Paul says. “I haven’t seen any of your pack in weeks. I was starting to think you were too good for my brew.”
“Your brew’s the only game in town,” I point out. You can tell by looking at the faces of the buildings that remain that this city used to be full of bars, but now you can’t get a drink anywhere unless you distill your own alcohol or go to Paul’s. I’ve tried making my own stuff a few times, but it always comes out near-toxic, and Paul’s actually good at what he does, so whenever I can get away, I prefer to visit his place.
One of the biggest perks of being on my own now—no one can tell me I can’t come here.
“Wh
