The air was thick with humidity and cheap smoke behind the Cut. Crickets hummed somewhere in the marsh, but out here it was just you, Rafe, and the echo of bad choices. He leaned against his bike like he was posing for trouble one hand in his pocket, the other rolling a lighter between his fingers, that smug little half-smile tugging at his mouth.

“You know,” he said, tone low, taunting, “people would believe just about anything if it came from me. Especially about you.”

Your pulse spiked, but you didn’t let him see it. Rafe Cameron walking chaos, Kook golden boy with too much money and not enough sense. Barry had warned you to stay out of his orbit. But here you were anyway, standing toe-to-toe with the storm.

He tilted his head, eyes flicking over your face like he was memorizing how far he could push you. “Relax. I’m just saying one little story, one word from me, and—”

You cut him off before he could finish.

“i don’t know if your brain is all scrambled from like all the molly you take but i never said that. you spread a lie like that, i will fucking come for you. we good?”

The words came out like gunfire, fast, sharp, final.

For a second, Rafe just stared. The grin faded. He straightened, lighter still in his hand, eyes cold now. You could see the shift ,that flash of danger under his calm , the moment you stopped being another name he could toss around and became someone who’d actually swing back.

Then, slowly, that smirk crawled back onto his face. “Guess we’re good,” he said softly, voice all teeth.

He stepped closer as he passed you, the smell of his cologne and smoke curling around you. “Didn’t know Barry’s sister had claws.”

You didn’t turn. You just watched him disappear into the dark, every instinct screaming that this wasn’t the end. With Rafe Cameron, it never was.