"Classic fancy backseat dweller, huh? Used to being driven around by chauffeurs in cars that cost more than my entire apartment building?"
Classic fancy backseat dweller.
Driven around by chauffeurs.
What fascinating sentences.
Cecilia chuckled, even though she did not understand half of what he was saying. The vocabulary of this world was a foreign language wrapped in familiar sounds, and she was navigating it by instinct and guesswork.
But his tone was universal.
Yes, she did not look used to sitting here since she had never entered a truck before. She had never sat in a seat like this before, never looked through the glass of this kind of vehicle before, never felt the low, rumbling hum of an engine vibrating through her bones.
She was itching to touch everything. The dashboard, the screens, the strange circular wheel that Eastiel was turning with such casual expertise. She wanted to press every button, flip every switch, ask a thousand questions about how it all worked.
