Charlie's face was pressed against the window; Hank was hunched over, clasping his gloved hands together. The wide brimmed Bolero hat on his head didn't invite eye contact. They were opposite each other in the sodden bus seats. Cigarette smoke slithered around the back and the stench of industrial alcohol clogged the front.

"It stinks," said Hank.

"C'mon Hank. Just think what the guys'll say when I bring back a demon head of my own! The looks on their faces!" Charlie giggled and lodged a cigar between her teeth, lighting it to Hanks dismay. She didn't wear a hat, or a branded trench coat like her associate, she dressed casual, a comfy hoodie with a bright yellow scarf wrapped around her neck that blended with her hair. She was young, seventeen and two months. Almost old enough for a Exorcist licence.

"It's a check-up on the Erstown pit. Devils. Nothing else. You shouldn't be out here at all." Hank snatched the cigar out of Charlie's hand and ground it into his palm. He flicked it to the back of the bus, the inhabitants frantically scrambling to catch it as it rolled around the grimy floor. A disgusted look washed over his face. Charlie scoffed.

"Keep up that charming expression and they'll think that cigar was a gift. Simon only gave me seven." 

"Seven too many."

Charlie lit up another cigar, hands moving like silk, and grinned at Hank. She slouched back and kicked her feet up onto the seat opposite her, sharply smacked off by Hank's gloved hand.

"They kill you from the inside Charlie, Simon knows that and so do I."

Charlie slouched low below the rim of Hanks bolero hat, making eye contact.

"You used to smoke, you're hardly one to judge," said Charlie.

Hank growled.

"Eyes on the road, our stop is soon."

The bus carried on, and on, as more and more passengers hobbled off at their respective stops. The blur of block flats became less and less appealing the closer they got to the towering outskirt walls. Eikrwald. Grenzstadt. Eikrburg. Nothing now; except for a checkpoint, one of the last operating gates that allowed people out of the Capital State. Charlie strained her neck to look up at the gate through the window. Its face, welded together with warped iron and steel, rust and oxidisation flowing out of the cracks like brackish streams. Growing weeds and branches nested birds high up in the sky-scraping buttresses. It was a fabricated cliff that ran the entirety of the Capital State, surrounding it on all sides. Charlie giggled with vertigo.

"It's a lot bigger up close, huh!"

The sun was setting. Broken glass crunched beneath their shoes. The bus's grinding engine faded into the distance. Hank trudged up to the small, dilapidated booth a hundred feet down from the gate and leaned on the counter. Bullet-proof glass, scratched and stained, separated him from the automation inside.

"Provide reason for exiting Capital State," droned the automation, it was a slim, metal torso slung by cogs and pulleys with a megaphone where the head would be. It had no legs to stand on its own.

"Routine check up on Erstown, nine forty seven pm, exorcist 000065, operative Hatchet plus one trusted," mumbled Hank. He checked his watch as the automaton's arms flowed and jerked like a marionette, pulling levers and flipping switches until, with a final twisted salute, it blared "Return within three hours or management officials will be dispatched!"

"Dispatched being the operative word," giggled Charlie. 

They walked past the gate, on into the barrens. 

"Where do you think it is then? Did Simon give you an address or just a general area?" asked Charlie, she had never been out of the wall before and she was transfixed on the horizon, it was a luminous deep orange, slowly blending into the dark navy overhead, starless. No clouds could be seen except the billowing spire of soot and ash coming from the centre of the glow. It reached high enough to pull the heavens down. Hank noticed her interest and frowned.

"We're going to look around and see if we find anything; we don't know what it is, keep in mind. So, when we get to Erstown, stay out of the buildings, just in case whatever it is might be pretending to be one. We'll stick to the streets." Hank gave a disgruntled sigh and checked the bottom of his shoes. "An in-and-out job Charlie - if we find it, we have the go-ahead to deal with it."

They walked side by side across the dry flats, hopping over craters and walking around scavenged skeletons of grotesque sizes and anatomy. A full hour of silence went by, broken only by hums and whistles from Charlie. Sunset turned to twilight, twilight turned to midnight, the tarmac turned into tufts of ashen weeds and crushed concrete.

"It's different out here huh?" Charlie tapped an overarching bone of a ribcage. 

Hank took another deep breath through his nose. 

"Yes."

"You think we'll find something?"

"Yes"

"Something big?"

"Big enough."

"Simon wouldn't send us out for nothing though, chainer! Or- or a grot-dweller!" Charlie chirped.

"This place isn't special Charlie, " Hank's tools were concealed under his trench coat, they weren't of any use. Yet.

Charlie chose to ignore his comment and kept rambling.

"Well I've still got my hopes."

"We check every house in a two-block radius Charlie, this was the area we were given, in and out."

"Leave it to you to turn a fun job like this into a routine check."

"Charlie. Routine checks don't exist for 'Cists like us, either we find something and kill it, or we find something and it kills us, if we find nothing then it was never a job to begin with, you're wishing for something I know you don't want."

"What's not to want? We're meant to kill as many as possible right? Why not be as enthusiastic as possible?"

She ran to the closest building. Despite Hank's stern growls she busted down the door, crushed rubble dusting the rooms. The block was empty. Hank sighed.

"You should never hope for a demon Charlie, nor should you run straight into a building uninformed. It's that enthusiasm that is often met with... bad outcomes. Though granted, we might as well get this done quickly while I still have my patience. This place smells worse than the bus." He opened his trench coat to pull out a rusted hatchet. It wasn't particularly sharp, though Hank gripped it with the stubbornness of a bloodstain.

Charlie giggled. She traipsed back to the middle of the street and gave Hank a hearty nudge.

"You wanna make a bet?"

There was a brief pause. Hank gave Charlie a questioning look.

"What are the terms?" said Hank.

"If I find a demon-"

"No." He interrupted.

"What do you mean? It's just a dumb devil job, right? Sounds like you're scared."

Hank sniffed the air again and darted a look to the surrounding buildings.

"I make the bet." said Hank.

"I'm listening." said Charlie, with utmost confidence.

"If you can't find a demon, you quit smoking."

"Awwwww what? That blows!" said Charlie. Her cigar reduced to a smoky stub. She thought for a moment. "But if I find a demon, you and Simon take me on a real demon job, the ones you guys do! All the way out to the Pits!" She outstretched her hand with excitement. He could only shake it while gritting his teeth.

"Fine... but be careful, don't sacrifice your caution for the prospect of something so trivial. I'll take this side, you take that side, and I'm not scared; this is compliance, nothing else." He gestured to the right side of the street. Charlie looked it up and down and bolted, sword trailing eagerly behind. She stopped abruptly before bursting through another door and quickly looked back at Hank.

"What's soooo bad about a demon anyway?"

He walked up to her in silence and plucked the cigar out of her mouth.

"Questions like that are what get people killed. We meet back at the bus stop once we purge the area. The faster we get this done the faster we get outta here"

Hank's lecturing voice grew fainter as more and more ruined walls came between them. Charlie rolled her eyes and got to work. She was picking up hints everywhere, the claw marks on the ground, the brackish saliva. She had a lead, but her mind was distracted.

"Is there any harm in being optimistic? Like maybe it could be a demon, maybe there could be a human who summoned it, and the contract is really cool, and complex, and they're plotting something big. But no. Stay safe and don't hope for a Demon, wa wa wa. I can handle my own, right? I happen to enjoy what I do."

She went through three blocks, farther and farther away from the main street. Some 

Frantic rustling and clatters came from the block opposite. She was on the third story. She grinned with excitement; every new sound could be her first demon head in her hands. She paused for a moment, though, taking in the view, for above the low, lingering sewer gases there was a wonderful night sky; it may of been without stars, but it still had something that made Charlie smile.

She vaulted over a rusted rail and landed with a dramatic crunch onto an opposite second story balcony. She winced as even she admitted it wasn't as quiet an entrance as she'd have liked, but she tiptoed through the broken window anyway.

She made sure not to step on any glass or debris as she traversed the floor, peeking in every room until there was one closed door left. A single, pristine, glazed mahogany door. She heard a noise from inside. An ominous feeling enveloped her, it was exhilarating. Deep down she did think it was just like any other devil infestation, just hack and slash and that's that; but it felt a lot more...

"Goodness, I would not consider myself threatening, quite the opposite." Charlie jolted as her thought was interrupted by a voice from inside the room. She stayed perfectly still; she wasn't sure if her cover was...

"I know you are there. Let us be honest, you are not really the subtle type." Charlie backed away from the door, sword poised to strike whatever was inside. She had the biggest grin on her face.

"Devils don't talk, meaning you're a demon. Why are you here?!" She heard a hollow chuckle.

"Let us start with why you are here, shall we?"

"You're in no position to make demands, demon!"

"And it seems you are not in the position to open a door; we all have our restrictions." The sarcasm seeped through the cracks in the wall. Charlie swallowed. There was a brief pause.

"What makes you think I am a demon?" the voice enquired.

"W-well-" Charlie thought for a moment.

"Why not a human?" it continued.

"Well, that's impossible, if you were human, you would've been brought to the Capital ages ago. This place is home to only devils and demons now, and that's why I'm here."

"Sounds like another steadfast exorcist, how original."

She rolled her eyes and inched closer to the door.

"So, what if I am?"

"To be perfectly honest, it does not matter all that much, but we are getting off topic. I apologise, if I remember correctly, you can't open a door?"

Charlie grew frustrated.

"Opening the door is a stupid idea!"

The voice chuckled again. There was an uneasy silence.

"Yet somehow, I know you want nothing more than to do it. To know what I am."

Charlie grew uncomfortable, the voice was right.

"To hell with this." grumbled Charlie. "I'm gonna go get Hank."

"And give me the chance to run awa-… wait... you are going to go and get who?" The voice's tone for a second sounded like a genuine question, in disbelief. Charlie was taken aback.

"Um, Hank, you know him?" she scoffed. Her grin grinned a grin as she got an idea. "He's super good at his job, he'd bust down this door no matter what you were! He's nearby, I can just grab him reaaal qui-"

"Oh, no need to tell me, I am aware of his work. Though I didn't think he'd be much interested in me, he liked the big game."

"Well, you sure as hell ain't small game, cos devils. Don't. Talk."

"And how would you know, did your precious Hank tell you that as well? He was always a buzzkill if I remember." Charlie paused; the ominous feeling went away. Her shoulders relaxed.

"Well yeah, he is... kind of, he says he wants to keep me safe."

"You seem pretty capable at handling your own."

Charlie instinctively nodded in agreement. There was another silence.

"Besides opening a door, that is."

Charlie sighed.

"If you're not a demon then what are you?"

"You'll trust whatever I say, despite not knowing what I look like?"

"Well... I gotta go off something."

"You're a curious one."

"Well, you still haven't really answered my question."

"And you still cannot open a door for the life of you."

"Y'know what? Maybe I can open a door for the life of me, I'll prove it!"

"...Really?" The voice sounded genuinely curious.

"Well, yeah, I think even if whatever you are got the jump on me, I'd still leave here with your head."

"And what makes you say that? Such confidence is frequently met with a somewhat... untimely demise," the voice scoffed.

"Well... do you have a head?"

"...Yes."

"Well, Hank always used to say if it has a head then -"

"- it has a price," the voice interrupted.

"You know a lot about Hank, huh?"

The voice seemingly cleared its throat.

"Who doesn't? I did not know The Hatchet was still swinging."

There was a very...very...long...pause.

"Hank could open a door, if I remember rightly," the voice piped up.

"Oh, could he now?!"

Charlie barged through the door with a quick jolt and stood poised, sword facing towards the hellish entity. It stood. A tall, spindly figure in the centre of the cluttered and neglected room. It was dressed surprisingly formally in a suit, tie, slacks with suspenders underneath. It fixed the attire on its skeletal body and looked straight at Charlie. She took a step back, sword still in her tightly gripping hands. She couldn't see its mouth move, yet it spoke.

"I did not expect you to actually do it. A pleasure, I'm sure, who knew someone so passionate could be so... petite?"

Charlie was hoping she'd finally get to know what she was dealing with.

"Dainty?" it continued.

It just made her more confused. She had never seen a demon or devil like this ever in her time working with Hank, let alone in the books she hides under her bed.

"Or compact is maybe the word I'm looking for."

She was used to fur or fiery markings riddling skin and bone, with horns to boot. But this, it looked almost human.

"I'll stick with small for the time being," it concluded.

Charlie was trying her hardest to take everything in. It seemed to be better at this than her.

Its neck was ten centimetres too long and its shoulders were too broad. Its fingers were too sharp, and its waist was indistinguishable from its spine. Though the most unsettling thing on its skeletal face was its grin, or grimace, it didn't look natural. It stretched too far either side and the teeth were jagged yet unnervingly straight; but at the same time, it was cursed with so much charisma.

"What... in hell are you?" Charlie said, transfixed.

"Oh, do not worry, it is going to be so much easier to explain now that we're face-to-face." Its hand effortlessly whisked up a cigar. "Do you smoke, by any chance?"

Hank looked at his watch while leaning on his neat stack of dissected, amputated and decapitated devilish corpses. Just another hack and slash devil job, and that was that. He was confident enough to know Charlie hadn't got herself killed, though he wouldn't put it past her to get distracted. It had been fifteen minutes since Charlie had left his sight and, for a two-block radius, it was starting to get on the suspiciously late side.

"She probably got carried away with a desperate one," he thought to himself. He checked his pockets, five slug cartridges left. He glanced at his hatchet, caked in congealed black blood. Seeing the blood, he shot a look at his attire. Not a drop. Relief. The job was enough for rent, but not for a drycleaner. He checked his watch again and took a lengthy sigh as he paced impatiently.

"Five more minutes." The aroma of gunpowder and blood faded as the familiar stench advanced from Charlie's side of the street; it didn't smell like a job was done, not in the slightest. He looked up at the sky and frowned. Not a single star. Nothing. He pulled out his phone and took a deep breath. It rang once before it was answered.

"Hatchet Exorcism Co, this is Simon, to whom am I speaking?"

"Drop the act asshole, you know it's me."

There was a pause on the line.

"How's the job, buzzkill, find anything?" Hank could hear Simon chewing over the phone.

"I don't remember you mentioning that this was a demon job. Care to elaborate?"

"Oh really?! I was right?!" Simon chuckled.

"You shouldn't sound happy, and no I haven't found one yet. I know one was here, and now I know you knew as well. Elaborate. Now!" Hank's voice grew dark and stern. It was instantly quelled by Simon's obnoxious chewing."

"Well, it was the most promising lead I could find, all the hotspots are bloodbaths at the moment. I heard that firm two streets down went bust 'cos they lost their clients to Management. Way to lead me on, by the way-"

"Way to lead you on?!"

Hank paused, took a deep breath and composed himself.

"We're not wanting promising leads for Charlie, we are wanting safe ones."

"Oi, shit's harder than you think, times change, private exorcists aren't affordable anymore, corporate is where it's at now. And hey, I remember saying it was a big job, the demon part must've slipped my mind."

Hank rolled his eyes at the false innocence.

"Well, whatever it was must've pissed off. I checked the whole pla-." He paused and looked at Charlie's side of the street. He could see the shadows of devils lining the alleyways.

"Say, where is that little Charlie? She's usually spouting what cool devil she's killed by now."

"That's the thing, we split up to clear the area faster and it's been fifteen minutes since I saw her." Hank shot a look at his watch and to the crawling alleyways. He was tense.

"You split up?" Simon said, surprised. Hank could sense he was struggling to swallow a rather challenging mouthful.

"I wouldn't be calling if she was here. She's a curious one,'' rumbled Hank.

"Indeed she is."

"Point is, I didn't think you were serious when you said it was a 'big job'. How big were you honestly thinking?"

There was a silence on the line. Despite the chewing.

"Well..."

"I smelled something big, Simon. It wasn't one I recognised." Another pause. More. Chewing. Simon took a deep breath before speaking.

"I had a hunch it might've been a greater demon, a Deathbroker or something like that. Hank, I can explain."

The leather gloved hand squeaked as Hank clenched his fist.

"Fuck's sake, Simon..."

"Hey hey, we don't know if it is one or not, and if it's a small area you probably would've heard her scream if she was in trouble."

"That's not helping."

"Well, you said yourself that it must've pissed off and you're probably right, but it was a once-in-a- blood-moon opportunity, I couldn't just ignore it. The payout would've been huge."

"Charlie is always the priority, that payout is worthless if it's paying for a funeral!" snapped Hank. The surrounding swarm of devilish shadows fled at his words. Moments passed before he took another deep breath.

"I'm expecting a lift back to the Capital; those buses stink and they don't allow devil heads on board."

"Well, how many you got?"

Hank glanced at the pile.

"Enough for rent, and for the bills."

"Oh well, it wasn't a complete bust then, eh? Seems you've still got your touch."

"Flattery won't help you either, she doesn't go on any jobs like this ever again."

There was another pause on the line.

"Charlie is new blood, Hank, she's got real potential, without her our firm's gonna be a fish outta water against Management. I know you don't do the big jobs anymore, but she -"

"I don't want to hear it, Simon. Pick us up in twenty minutes, I'll be no longer than ten."

He loaded a slug into his shotgun chamber.

"Deathbroker or not, Hank. The Hatchet would've torn it limb from-"

Hank hung up. 

Charlie eyed up the cigar in its bony palm. It looked pristine, the tobacco flaking out the open end like a tarnished orchid.

"We both know you want it... hell, I sure would."

Charlie stayed where she was, the tip of her sword within striking distance of...of...

"My name is Banson, and I'm pleasantly surprised you haven't chopped my head off."

"Yet!" said Charlie. 

It tilted its head to an unnerving ninety degrees.

"You're an interesting one," said Banson softly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, one moment you'd like nothing more than to run me under a Seraph Eye to find every last detail - nice notepad by the way - and the next moment you're hellbent on bringing my corpse back to your precious Hank. The only consistent thing about you is that you still want this cigar, at least we have a basis of negotiations."

There was another pause, the air filled with throwaway lines and unanswered questions as well as brand new ones. Charlie was at a loss.

"Huh!?" blurted Charlie. Admittedly it was an honest response. Banson could only sigh.

"Take the cigar, I know you want it. It's the least an envoy can do to make their guest at ease, though you'd most likely need to lower that... exquisite sword of yours, I must say. I know a lot more about you than you might think."

Charlie squinted her eyes.

"How'd you know I smoke?"

"Take it and I'll tell you."

"You make it sound like it's poisoned."

"Well... it is a cigar after all."

They... both laughed. A massive wave of tension was relieved from the room, Charlie could breath again. She stuck her sword into the floorboards and nabbed the cigar, lighting it instinctively. Inhaling for three, and exhaling for two, this cigar felt incredible! The smoke lined her throat like honey, her sight sharpened, a curious rush flowed through her body. 

"Woah!"

"Woah indeed... I'm glad you trusted me so quickly, past clients have been a lot more wary."

"Meh." Charlie shrugged. "I could kill you easy if you crossed me, you're chill."

"Hahah! Indeed I am... And indeed you could. Wouldn't you agree that it seems completely reasonable of me to... ask for your time? Hear me out?" Banson gestured his arms wide, his fingertips almost touching the walls.

"Yeah I'll hear you out, what's an envoy?"

Charlie could swear she saw a glint in the hollow sockets Banson had for eyes.

"Why don't you whisk out that notepad of yours and I'll divulge everything."

Right! Of course! The notepad in her pocket! She clicked her pen twice, ready to write. She could hardly keep still, wait till Hank hears about this! 

"First things first, I'll tell you this... I'm not a demon, but as an envoy I am very closely in ties with one... a powerful one, hence my formal attire. My job ultimately is to teach and convince you sceptical humans that us infernals aren't so bad, that we actually share some common interests. Most importantly, the deals and contracts that our - at least my - demon proposes aren't as malicious as you think. I'm sure you know about contracts at least." 

Her frantic scribbling was cut short.

"Hank said you sell your soul, or at least a part of it, for terms supposedly agreed by both parties..."

Banson rapped its fingers cymatically on a crumbling table, warping the surface. It drew in another deep cloud of dust through its teeth.

"Selling your soul isn't inherent to the deal, humans just so happen to ask for soul-worthy things, like riches, or power. Seems like a good deal to me, but-"

"What about bringing back the dead?" Charlie interrupted. There was a brief pause, more silent than the others. Banson chuckled the dust back out, obscuring itself in a thin veil.

"The dead can never return, not by demon hands at least, they don't deal with such... messy matters. You'd be encroaching on Lich territory, Necroherren. It's a whole other ring of hell." Banson's eyes glinted again as if to dismiss the matter. Charlie wanted to continue but felt the smoke contract in her throat, constricting it.

"Everything ok?" enquired Banson softly.

She took her mind to other things immediately, and was remedied almost instantly. She changed the subject.

"So, um... what demon do you...?"

"Advocate for?"

"Yeah... that."

Banson dusted itself off and fixed its tie, like it was preparing for a board meeting. It cleared its throat, the sound resonating from inside its skull.

"His mortal name is Kapitol, derived from your Capital, and your word capital. He is one of the ten greater demons of industry, investment and progression. He's known for his deals in business. Most relevantly, he holds direct lineage to the arch-sin of Greed."

This all sounded like juicy intel... intel for the guys back at the shop! She'd have so much to talk about, and maybe Hank would trust her more, she'd win the bet. She didn't technically find one but it's close enough, right? She could go on a real demon hunt!

"And as a demon of industry, Kapitol, in my humble opinion, has better contract-formatting skills than any other, making it that much easier to create and flesh out a mutually beneficial agreement. Between you and me, you seem to have struck gold with your first contractual opportunity. Summoning him here would be as easy as writing a note on that pad of yours, what do you say?" Its voice flowed like silk, as if it had been said a hundred times before.

It was right. Charlie wondered what information she could get if it was agreed to be disclosed in an agreement. A real demon contract! A real demon! This Banson was actually really helpful, and informative, and nice and... and it all was starting to feel too good to be true... Hank's voice was beginning to ring in her head, and the worst part was, it sounded rational.

"The one thing demon shitheads are good at, is telling you exactly what you want to hear Charlie. They live in hell for a reason."

Charlie spat out the cigar.

"...you promise me..."

She wrapped her hand tightly around the hilt of her sword.

"...that if you EVER find yourself agreeing with one..." 

She wasn't stupid, she knew that.

"...laughing with one..."

Banson's grin was devoid of sincerity now. The glint was gone.

"...if you ever think that any demon shithead is gonna give you a good deal, help you out, remember..."

"Charlie?" Banson rumbled. A shiver ran down her spine... but Hank's voice rang true. Truer than that... thing.

"...the ONLY thing these bastards are good for is a fucking pay-check!"

It was one of the first sentences Charlie could comprehend coming out of Hanks mouth. Saying it any chance he got, ever since she was a little girl. Pay-check. A fucking-pay-check.

The sword was wrenched from the splintering floorboards and was thrust towards Banson's neck; it stopped, inches away. Charlie wasn't having this. She had a new look in her eyes, one that made Banson's grin return tenfold.

"I never told you my name! You never told me how you know about Hank! You - you've given me a cigar that you KNEW I wanted... this was supposed to be a dumb devil job! How are you even here? How did you... you - you know too much. I - I..."

Her persecution was echoed by a liturgical cry, one of dominance and power. It rang through the block flat and through the street, followed shortly by cries of devils and living shadow. Banson, for the first time Charlie had seen, recoiled.

"Charlie!"

Banson's face distorted at the sound, as if in a composed fear, the grin still screwed onto its face.

"Go see your precious Hank." It picked up the perfect cigar and placed it into her hand.

"One smoke of this, and I'll be happy to pick up where we left off."

It laid in her hand for a long ten seconds before she broke eye contact and stuffed it deep into her pocket with confliction. She yelled back out, over the balcony, only to look back at the room to find that Banson had gone, leaving behind a smoky atmosphere, smelling tantalisingly like the cigar in her pocket. She jumped over the railings to the familiar streets below, her notebook flapping wildly as she fell.

The drive back was dark and quiet, it was 2 am and Charlie was curled up in the front seat, wrapped in Hank's branded trench coat, fast asleep. Simon was driving, only he had "the knack" to get the gears to move. Charlie was unusually quiet when loading the heads in the trailer, having ran towards Hank for a jolting embrace looking like she had something to say, it almost looked like she was about to say it, but stopped. Hank dismissed it, he was tired and wanted to get back to The Shop for some sleep. He'd bring it up later.

"What did I tell you Hank, completely fine, seems I was wrong." Simon's voice was a mixture of relief and disappointment. Hank gave a grunt, he was keeping an eye on the trailer. Simon glanced at Charlie, safe and sound.

"I have more to say, Simon."

"Then why don't you say it?"

Hank gestured his head towards Charlie. A pothole made the car jolt, she remained still.

"She seems mature enough to hear what you have to say. I could wake her up."

"Don't."

"She's always eager to hear about our work. Our lives Hank. She's seventeen, you could start treating her accordingly. She's already an amazing asset to the business and it's been what? Four months since you started with her? You had an early retirement, it wasn't meant to be, so what? You're the best dad-"

"I'm not her father Simon, and neither are you." He said tersely.

"But you're the best she's got, we're the best she's got. I'm not asking you to tell her everything-"

"I've taught her what she ought to know."

There was a pause. 

"She looks up to you Hank... you saved her."

Hank turned to face him. 

"Charlie's got a meetup with her group of friends down by The Horn, we'll continue this when she leaves tomorrow."

"Later today you mean."

Hank smiled on the inside.

"Fuck off."

The rest of the drive was silent. Slowly the landscape became more and more appealing again, the signs came back, telling them exactly where they were and where they were going: The Capital.