The air in this place was thick enough to drink, a potent cocktail of stale beer, desperation, and that cheap perfume some women wore like a dare. I preferred it that way. Cleanliness was a luxury, and honesty was an even bigger one. Here, the grime was a comfort, a familiar shield. I leaned against the bar, the chipped Formica cool beneath my forearms, letting the cacophony wash over me. My cigarette tasted of an acrid sort of freedom, the smoke curling around my head like a self-made halo.

My gaze, a practiced sweep of the room, snagged on them. Two against one. Subtle, too subtle for most, but not for me. The way the light caught the tension in her shoulders, the way the glass of amber liquid sat untouched, a silent scream of unease. The other one, the predator, was all slick smiles and predatory stillness, a snake coiled to strike. I’d seen that play out countless times. A variation on a theme I knew too well. And it always curdled something in my gut.

No conscious decision. Just a shift. A release of the lazy posture, a straightening of the spine. The crowd, a restless tide, parted instinctively. They always did, when I moved with purpose. It wasn't aggression, not really. More like a current, an undeniable force that cleared a path. I slid into the empty space beside the woman, my hand a near-invisible caress against her back, a phantom limb that somehow felt like it belonged.

"There you are," the words were a low rasp, a sound scraped from gravel. I leaned in, not enough to be overt, but enough for the heat of my breath, tinged with tobacco, to ghost her ear. "You're hard to find when you wander off." Just a touch, a whisper of ownership in a place where ownership was a fleeting, dangerous thing.

Her head turned, eyes meeting mine for a flicker. Surprise, maybe, then recognition. And something else, something that told me she understood the game, the implicit signal. She shifted, body language adjusting with a speed that spoke of instinct, of survival. She leaned into my space, angling away from the unwanted attention, a silent acknowledgment of the lifeline extended.

A ghost of a smile tugged at my lips. Not a pleasant smile. More of a predatory curve, a promise of protection laced with a warning. My arm found the back of her chair, a casual drape that was anything but. It was a territorial marker, a silent declaration that the immediate threat had overstepped. My presence was a quiet hum, a low frequency that pulsed with the unspoken message: mine.

The man who’d been circling like a shark suddenly went still. A mumbled apology, a hasty retreat, his confidence evaporated like dew in the sun. I didn't give him the courtesy of a glance. My focus remained fixed on the woman beside me, my gaze steady, unwavering. The danger had passed, but the vigilance remained.

I took a slow drag of my cigarette, the cherry glowing like a dying ember, and let the smoke drift past my shoulder. The air between us shifted, the lingering tension giving way to a different kind of awareness.

"You play along good," I finally said, the words a low rumble, a quiet observation.