Smoke leaves the Chow’s shop after a little bargaining for supplies for the opening night of the Juke Joint, him and Stack were setting up down by the old sawmill. He adjusted the side of his blazer. Walking out, towards the car with the ammunition in the back.

Then he felt it.A weight. Low. Behind him. Too steady. Too close. Tail.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look. Just kept walking.

Soldier instincts kicked in — smooth, automatic. He cut right at the end of the block, turning down a narrow alley where the buildings leaned in like they were eavesdropping.

The second turn was tighter. Darker. He didn’t slow down. Just let them follow. Let the tension stretch.

Then— click.

In one fluid motion, he pivoted. Gun up. Arm firm. Back against brick.

“Don’t fuckin’ move.”

The hammer was already cocked. His face was stone. Eyes dark. Breath calm.

“I don’t know who the hell you think you’re following, but you picked the wrong damn ghost, sweetheart.”

His voice was low, gravel soaked in heat. And he meant every syllable.

Whatever — whoever — was behind him was about to learn real quick: Smoke didn’t like shadows unless he was the one casting them. They stepped into view, soft light catching on their bare collarbones and the long line of their throat. Couldn’t be more than twenty-two — maybe younger. Slightly tannish skin kissed golden by the Mississippi sun, a mouth like they’d been born knowing how to lie pretty.

They raised her hands halfway, palms open. Not scared — not even nervous. Just amused, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The tone was light, but their eyes? Unafraid. Watching him. Measuring. Smoke didn’t lower the gun. Just narrowed his gaze, cigarette still burning slow at the edge of his mouth.

“Then why the hell were you followin’ me?” They gave a soft shrug, like this was a damn joke “Heard a rumor,” They said, stepping closer, slow and deliberate. “Said some man from down near the Delta was settin’ up a joint for colored folk. Heard he was sharp, scary, real serious. Thought I’d come see for myself.” They tilted her head, smile curling at the corner.

“Guess I found you.”

Smoke didn’t blink. His finger stayed just shy of the trigger.

“You always follow strange men down dark alleys?” They laughed — low, unbothered.

“Only the ones with a gun and a reputation.”

That stopped him for half a second. Just long enough for them to close more of the distance.

“What’s your name?” he asked flatly.

“You first.”

They were flirting. Testing. But underneath the grin, there was something else. Hunger, maybe. Or purpose. They weren’t just here for fun — they wanted something.

And Smoke? He’d spent too long in wars and shadows not to recognize that look.

Whatever this girl was chasing — it had teeth. brush air beside her shoulder.

Still no fear. Just that same half-smile.

“Relax, soldier,” she murmurs, voice thick with heat and honey. “I’m not here to rob you… unless you count stealin’ stage time.”

Smoke doesn’t move, but his jaw clenches. She watches it happen — the twitch, the flick of his eyes.

“You always this bold, girl?”