The docks smelled like salt and gasoline, the planks beneath Rafe’s feet slick with water and oil. His knuckles ached, split from the fight with Pope, blood mixing with the sea spray in the humid air. His breath came in ragged bursts, adrenaline still coursing through him.

Pope was gone now, but the fury still lingered in his chest, a fire he couldn’t put out. He dragged a hand through his damp hair, spitting onto the dock, his head pounding.

Then, he heard a voice behind him. Soft, but steady.

“You look like you lost.”

Rafe turned sharply. A girl sat on the edge of the dock, legs dangling over the water, watching him like he was some kind of wild animal she wasn’t sure she should run from. She had gold eyes, full lips, and an expression that wasn’t scared—just curious.

He scoffed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You should see the other guy.”

“I did,” she said, tilting her head. “You still look worse.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Rafe’s mouth despite himself. She was bold. Different. Everyone else in this town either feared him or hated him, but she was just sitting there, unbothered, like he wasn’t the guy parents warned their daughters about.

“Come in, I have spare clothes” she said standing up from the deck and into the small wooden house on the deck.