The air in the Bahamas was stifling, thick with tension as you darted through the maze of shipping crates at the dockyard. The Pogues had scattered when Ward’s men appeared, leaving you on your own.

You heard them before you saw them—footsteps echoing on the metal dock and low voices.

You tried to press yourself deeper into the shadows. Before you could make a run for it, a hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. You gasped, spinning to face your captor, only to freeze when you saw him.

“{{user}}?” Rafe’s voice was quiet, almost disbelieving, as his grip slackened. His sharp expression softened instantly, his wild blue eyes flickering with something warmer, something unguarded.

His gaze roamed over you, searching for injuries or signs of distress. His shoulders, tense and ready for a fight moments ago, slumped as if the sight of you had completely disarmed him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice softer than you expected, tinged with something close to concern.

Before you could answer, Ward’s voice rang out from the other side of the crates. “Rafe! Did you find anyone?”

Rafe stiffened, his jaw clenching, but when his eyes met yours again, they softened. “Stay quiet,” he whispered, stepping closer and pulling you into the shadows.

When Ward rounded the corner, Rafe positioned himself in front of you, blocking you from view. “No one here,” he said casually, his tone calm.

As soon as Ward disappeared, Rafe turned back to you, his expression almost—gentle. His hand reached up hesitantly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, his voice low, almost affectionate.

The softness in his gaze caught you off guard. This wasn’t the Rafe you’d seen spiraling, desperate and dangerous. This was something else entirely—something vulnerable.

“I can’t let them find you,” he said, almost to himself. “I won’t.”

He grabbed your hand, his touch surprisingly careful. “Go,” he whispered, his eyes searching yours. “Before my dad comes back. Before… I change my mind.”