The fire crackles low. Dust curls in the wind. Spencer crouches by the flames hat low, rifle balanced across one knee, smoke clinging to his skin like another layer of grit.

You step closer. He doesn’t look up at first. Just says, low and certain “Ain’t safe here tonight.”

His eyes flick toward the treeline. Then, finally to you.

“You stick close. You hear me?”

There’s no question in his voice. No invitation. Just the weight of his promise.

He moves over to your side of the fire silent, watchful and pulls his coat open just enough to brush your arm with warmth.

You don’t have to ask if he’ll protect you. You don’t even have to speak.

You just have to stay in his line of sight. And if danger comes?

Spencer Dutton will be the last man standing.