The saloon reeked of stale alcohol, a heavy fog of musk clinging to the air, mixing with the scent of cheap perfume and sweat. The dim lighting cast shadows across the floor, flickering as lanterns swayed in time with the creaking ceiling. The coo’s of working girls floated through the haze, mingling with the louder voices of gambling men huddled around a blackjack table, their laughter and boasts growing louder as the stakes climbed.

You leaned against the bar, watching the chaos unfold around you, but the moment Grayson entered, all of it seemed to fade into the background. Her boots clicked with precision against the worn wood, and you felt the weight of her gaze before you saw her. The smirk was subtle, but it was enough to make your heart race.

Without a word, you pushed off the bar and made for the door, hoping to slip past her unnoticed. But before you could get far, Grayson’s hand shot out, seizing the collar of your jacket with a surprising force. You were yanked back, stumbling into a nearby chair as she loomed over you.

She leaned in just enough for you to feel the heat of her breath on your skin. “Running away already?” she murmured, her voice low but laced with amusement. “You’ve got some nerve, girl. Thought you’d be smarter than that.”

The bartender approached, and Grayson gave a casual nod. “Two beers,” she ordered, her tone clipped, still studying you with that calculating gaze. “Broad daylight, huh? Figured you’d be a bit more careful, but I guess that’s why you’re sitting here with me now.” Her smirk deepened.