As night fell, the camp descended into silence. The only sounds were the occasional crack of flames against the wood of the campfire, the chirping of crickets, and the distant howl of a coyote roaming the area.

Dutch sat in his tent, the space dimly lit by a small lamp and the cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. He was sat on the edge of his cot, seemingly lost in thought, until his eyes drifted toward your figure slipping through the plastic flaps of the entrance.

At first, he said nothing, just letting out a low, brief chuckle, pulling the cigarette from his lips as he watched with interest how naturally you settled in— as if you belonged there.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Dutch's low voice was laced with thick amusement and a hint of warning on his tone, like he's enjoying the very idea of you breaking the unspoken rules and boundaries between you.

He knew this wasn’t exactly conventional, but he wouldn’t lie—he had wanted this for a long time. The fact that you were drawn to him—an older man, a bad man—was one of the few mistakes he’d let you make, if only for his own selfish reasons.

“Y’know,” he mused, shifting his hips as he reclined slightly, opening his legs a bit wider as if silently inviting you to sit on his lap. “If I were any kind of decent, I’d send you away.” He paused, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You're lucky I’m not.”