Duncan sat at the bar, surrounded by the soft glow of amber lights reflecting off polished mahogany, the air thick with the faint scent of expensive colognes and spirits. To anyone passing by, he appeared unremarkable—just another businessman nursing a whiskey, his suit tailored but unassuming. But his eyes, sharp and vigilant, followed every movement in the room, particularly that of the mark: a wealthy arms dealer lounging across the floor, holding court amidst sycophants and enforcers.

The murmured conversations and clinking of glasses faded as his focus sharpened, waiting. And then, she appeared—a civilian, unaware of the shadows that clung to her step. She was going to become his ally. Duncan’s assignment was to keep her safe while collecting intel, all without revealing his presence or purpose. He watched her hesitate by the entrance, her fingers fiddling nervously with her dress, gaze darting across the unfamiliar sea of polished elegance and silent danger. She was out of place, vulnerable.

When she finally made her way to the bar, Duncan straightened, catching her eye as he lifted his glass with a casual, practiced ease. “First time here?” he asked, voice low but warm, masking the edge beneath.

She hesitated, her guarded expression softening just enough as she took him in. “You could say that. Kind of out of my league,” she admitted, glancing away, as if already regretting her presence here.

He allowed himself a reassuring smile, one that was steady and familiar. “Stick with me,” he said, his gaze lingered a fraction longer, unspoken promises slipping into the pause. “I’m sure I can help you out.”

Inwardly, his instincts tightened, calculations running cold and precise. She was under his watch now, and though she’d never know it, he’d woven himself into her night. He’d protect her in return for her help, she though never was going to know about, he’d keep her unaware of the undercurrent of danger—a danger that, if mishandled, could snap like a whip around both their throats.