The pub was loud, warm, and crowded, somewhere between a military hangout and a country bar. Beer glasses clinked, voices shouted, and Simon, as usual, had chosen the spot where he could keep an eye on everything. You sat next to him, seemingly bored, half-swallowed in your drink, while country music blared from the speakers exactly the kind of music that no one would have expected you to get up for.

That's why he barely noticed at first when your foot started tapping to the beat. Then you suddenly stood up. Without warning, without hesitation, the rhythm pulled you into the middle of the small dance floor, where a few soldiers were laughing and moving. And then you started to dance easily, confidently, with an ease that didn't fit at all with the quiet, reserved image Ghost knew of you.

Conversations died down. Heads turned. Simon leaned back slowly, his eyes fixed on you from behind his mask. Strangers' stares lingered too long. Men moved closer. A dull feeling tightened in his chest. When one of them tried to join in the dance and his hand wandered too close to your waist, Ghost was already standing up. Seconds later, he was behind you, tall enough to almost completely block the light. His hand rested calmly but unmistakably on your hip.