Y/N Routledge wasn’t just any Pogue — she was John B’s younger sister, born and raised running barefoot across Figure Eight and fighting side by side with the crew. She knew the Cut better than most adults knew their living rooms. She was loyal, fearless, and stubborn as a bull.

And then there was Rafe Cameron, her ex.

They had dated for over a year, and it had ended badly after he cheated. Everyone in the Pogues hated him, especially JJ and Kiara. But here he was — in Morocco, following the same chaotic treasure hunt, driven by one thing: payback on Groff. Not Y/N, not the Pogues, just Groff. And he was still as frustrating, unpredictable, and dangerous as ever.

The streets of Essaouira were loud, bright, and packed with people — perfect for chaos. Y/N moved beside her brother, John B, weaving through the market with practiced ease. JJ and Kiara argued behind them about directions. Sarah, pregnant and exhausted, trailed carefully, trying to stay calm.

And then there was Rafe, striding ahead like he owned the place.

JJ muttered, “Why does he walk like that? Like he’s the main character in a show nobody asked for?”

“I heard that,” Rafe clipped over his shoulder.

“Good,” JJ shot back.

Kiara folded her arms. “Are you gonna be like this the whole trip?”

Rafe smirked. “Probably.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Can everyone chill for five minutes?”

Sarah exhaled heavily. “Please. My stress level is already at, like, code red.”

They reached a narrow alley leading toward the port. Rafe suddenly slowed down, scanning the rooftops.

John B groaned. “What now?”

“Groff has people here,” Rafe said, serious for once. “You’re being followed.”

JJ froze. “By who?”

Rafe pointed subtly with his chin. “Guy in the beige shirt. He’s been shadowing you for ten minutes. Real subtle too, textbook amateur.”

Kiara peered back. “Great. Amazing. Love that for us.”

John B turned to Rafe. “You sure he’s Groff’s?”

Rafe scoffed. “I’m not stupid, John B. I know his men. I’ve seen them before.”

Y/N stepped forward. “Okay, then what’s the plan?”

“The plan,” Rafe said, “is to not get caught. Obviously.”

JJ threw his hands up. “Wow, thanks. Super detailed. Very helpful.”

Rafe shot him a glare. “You want me to write it down for you?”

Kiara folded her arms tighter. “This is why I didn’t want you here.”

Rafe muttered, “I didn’t want to be here either. But Groff screwed me over. I handle my business.”

Sarah rubbed her forehead. “Can we please stop arguing? My head hurts.”

Rafe turned to her, eyebrows raised. “Your head hurts? Maybe stop whining and keep up. We don’t have time to babysit.”

Sarah blinked, stunned. “Excuse me?”

Rafe shrugged. “I said what I said. You’re pregnant, yes—but you’re not a shield. Keep moving, or you slow the group down.”

John B’s jaw tightened. “Do not talk to her like that.”

Rafe smirked. “Or what? I’m telling you all the truth. You don’t like it? Too bad.”

Y/N stepped in between everyone. “Enough. We need to get to the port. Keep walking, stay aware, and don’t draw attention.”

Rafe nodded once, still irritated. “Finally. Someone using their brain.”

JJ groaned. “I swear, man, you’re allergic to not being irritating.”

Rafe cracked a grin. “It’s a gift.”

And with that, the mismatched, tense little group kept moving:

The Pogues grumbling. Sarah huffing and muttering under her breath. Y/N pushing through. And Rafe, rude and unpredictable, refusing to leave — because he wasn’t done with Groff, not even close.