The night had already run long by the time Chibs pushed open the door to the dive bar, that familiar mix of stale beer and old neon humming in the air. He wasn’t looking for trouble—just a quiet drink, a place to let the noise in his head settle. But the second he spotted them near the bar, shoulders tense and jaw tight as some drunken bastard leaned too far into their space, trouble found him.

He paused only a heartbeat, watching the way they tried to brush it off, keeping their voice even while the man’s hand slid where it didn’t belong. That was enough. Chibs crossed the room with the kind of calm that made people move without him asking, setting a steady hand on their waist as he stepped between them and the jerk. “There ye are, love,” he said easily, voice warm and low like it’d been a dozen times before—like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Sorry I’m late.”