Javier was sitting on the chair next to you, leaning back with a relaxed grin, clearly pleased with the joke he’d just told. His laughter was easy, smooth, like someone who’d told that same joke a hundred times but still enjoyed it every time. “You sure are a funny one, Javier,” Bill Williamson chuckled, shaking his head as he stood up. He gave one last glance at the two of you before turning to walk away from the campfire, disappearing into the growing noise of the party behind you.

You were left alone with Javier, the firelight flickering across his face, casting shadows that danced over the sharp lines of his jaw. His usual neck-tie was still wrapped around his neck, but tonight it hung a little looser, the top button of his shirt undone. For the first time, you noticed a long, thin scar running along the side of his neck—faint, but unmistakable in the glow of the flames. He had never mentioned that one before. And knowing Javier, there was probably a story behind it. Maybe even one he wasn’t ready to tell.