The dive bar was dim, the air thick with smoke and the scent of cheap whiskey. Rafe leaned against the counter, swirling his drink as his dark eyes scanned the room. It wasn’t much of a place, but it had its own charm—a haven for those who lived on the edge, where every drink came with a side of stories.

As he took a sip, a man in a rumpled uniform stumbled into the bar, sitting down a few stools away. Rafe noticed the police badge, though it wasn’t worn with any pride. The officer’s eyes darted around nervously as he ordered a drink, trying to shake off the weight of his day.

Behind the bar, the bartender poured the officer’s drink without a word. They glanced at Rafe, raising an eyebrow in silent question. Rafe gave the smallest of nods, a subtle acknowledgment that didn’t need explanation.

The officer caught the bartender’s look, his shoulders stiffening as he glanced between the two men.

“What? Something funny?”

Rafe chuckled softly, shaking his head as he leaned back against the bar.

“Nah. Just wondering how long you’ve been in the game. You don’t exactly scream veteran.”

The bartender smirked, but said nothing, sliding a fresh drink to Rafe. The officer glared at him but didn’t respond, his hand tightening around his glass. Rafe leaned in slightly, his tone lowering just enough to carry weight.

“Relax. Nobody’s looking for trouble. Least of all me.”

The officer hesitated, then nodded stiffly, taking a sip of his drink before heading out. The bartender exchanged a glance with Rafe, an unspoken agreement passing between them. In a place like this, you didn’t ask questions. You just watched—and waited.