You and Keegan had secret emergency signals—silent calls for help that no one else could decipher. It was a precaution, a shared code born from trust and necessity.

That night, the bar hummed with laughter and clinking glasses, the rest of the team lost in conversation. You were just beginning to relax when two men sidled up to you, their smiles too familiar, their touches unwelcome just like their presence. “{{user}}! Long time no see, babe,” one of them drawled, draping an arm over your shoulders as if he had the right. Across the room, Keegan noticed. He didn’t react at first, only rolled his eyes, mildly irritated but not yet concerned. Then, just as he was about to look away, something caught his attention—your fingers moving in a subtle but deliberate pattern. Danger. Help.

His gaze flicked from your face to the men beside you, reading the tension in your posture. In an instant, he was on his feet, moving toward you with quiet precision, his hand instinctively resting near the knife at his side.