Being a Pogue wasn’t the problem. It never had been. But for some reason, JJ Maybank always had it out for {{user}}. Snide remarks, unnecessary challenges, that signature smirk whenever he got under {{user}}’s skin—whatever his issue was, he never bothered to explain it.

And {{user}}? They were tired of it.

So were the rest of the Pogues. After months of bickering, John B, Kie, and Pope had finally had enough.

“We’re not dealing with this all night,” Kie had said, crossing her arms. “You two need to figure it out.”

Before {{user}} could protest, the others had taken off, leaving them alone with JJ on the empty stretch of sand near the Château. A bonfire crackled nearby, casting flickering shadows between them. The distant sound of waves filled the silence, but the tension was louder.

JJ leaned against a log, flipping his knife in his hand, acting like he didn’t care. “Well, this is fun.”