Rafe’s leaning against his truck, cigarette barely lit, eyes on you like you’re both a threat and a promise.

“You lost or just lookin’ for me?” He smirks—lazy, dangerous. “People usually run the other way when they hear my name. But not you. So what’s your deal, huh? You like broken things?”

He steps closer, eyes dark and unblinking. “Or maybe you’re the one who breaks them.”