#ch; vik

She’s grateful for the Delamain’s tinted windows—but even through these, the desert is blinding, and Antinea blinks, remnant images of the dusty hills and dried plants still imprinted on her kiroshis. She can’t look away, though. The rocky and sandy valleys stretch, as far as her eyes can see. And when she looks back, as the Delamain keeps driving, she can barely see Night City anymore; a vague silhouette on the horizon, holo ads glowing faintly against the smog. Even Rocky Ridge disappears in a cloud of dust. She’s never been that far away from Night City. Her breath gets caught in her throat and she turns back, staring ahead at the asphalt, through the windshield. Vik grabs her hand. “Good?” He asks, his thumb running over the skin of her hand, softly. She nods, but Vik doesn’t let go of her hand. “How long until we’re there?” Antinea looks through the window again. “We will arrive at our destination in ten minutes and fifteen seconds,” answers Delamain. She frowns, hearing the AI voice chime in. Ten minutes. That’s five minutes, times two. That’s one minute, times five. One minute is sixty seconds—sixty seconds times five. Three hundred seconds. Times two. Six hundred. In six hundred fifteen seconds, they’ll be there. Less now, as she took time to think about it. Maybe five hundred ninety. Five hundred eighty nine. Five hundred eighty eight—