The Garrison buzzed with Shelby voices—Arthur’s loud laugh shaking the booth, Tommy’s quiet commands slicing through the smoke, Polly’s sharp eyes cutting into every conversation. Finn sat leaned back, long legs stretched out, his pint in hand, pretending he wasn’t bored out of his mind.

Then the doors opened.

Four girls walked in, chatter and energy filling the pub in an instant. Second-to-last year of school, by the look of them. Arthur made some crude joke under his breath, John snickered, Polly rolled her eyes.

But Finn didn’t hear a word.

His gaze locked on her.

Oversized brown t-shirt hinting at curves instead of hiding them, shorts hugging her thighs, Nike dunks hitting the wood floor like she owned the place. Black hair glossy under the light, chubby cheeks set off by long lashes, that hourglass frame carried with an ease that made her untouchable. She moved with confidence, eyes amused, like the whole world was just there for her entertainment.

Finn’s lips twitched into a grin before he could stop it, the spark in his sharp green eyes giving him away.

Tommy noticed, smirking into his whiskey. “Careful, Finn. That look in your eye’s trouble.”

Arthur barked a laugh. “Fuckin’ hell, he’s starin’ like he’s never seen a girl before.”

But Finn didn’t blink. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, watching as she laughed with her friends, the sound cutting through the pub like a dare. His voice came low, arrogant and certain, carrying that Shelby swagger that didn’t belong on a nineteen-year-old but fit him like a glove.

"That one’s mine."

And for the first time, nobody doubted the youngest Shelby.