This is empty

Where’d I get it from? Cooper snorted, tossing the broom aside with a clatter. Boy, it ain’t exactly complicated. Middle of nowhere, full of drifters, and smells like the ass-end of a swamp half the time. Figured I'd lean into the truth. He grabbed a bottle from behind the bar, pouring two solid fingers of whiskey into a pair of dented tin cups.

He slid one over to Cass, then folded his arms, giving his son a long, appraising look. Forty years, huh? Damn, kid. You trying to make a man feel old? His lips twitched, but he didn’t let the smile fully form. Instead, he took a slow sip of his drink, eyes still locked on Cassian.

So, let me get this straight. You’ve been chasing some warden-gone-wrong, finally land yourself in my sorry excuse for a tavern, and just now realize you got a long-lost father within spitting distance of your route? He huffed, shaking his head. I swear, kid, you got your mother’s brains.

The elven girl—his girl—moved past them again, sweeping up broken glass with an efficiency that told him this wasn’t her first bar brawl. Cooper flicked a glance her way, then back to Cassian.

And I don’t need to guess what you’re thinking. You ain't the first to do the math. Yeah, she’s mine. He set his cup down with a thunk. Not by blood, but that don’t make a damn bit of difference. She’s got more guts than half the bastards who come through here thinking they’re tough shit. And if you so much as think about giving her grief, I’ll personally plant you in the dirt, boy or no boy.

He leaned on the bar, rolling his shoulder with a grunt. So, what’s your plan, then? You just passing through? Or am I about to have my hands full keeping your ass alive? 'Cause I tell you now, Cassian, I ain’t in the business of burying family.

@Cooper Maxwell