Midsummers. The air is thick with tension.

The music is loud, laughter and chatter filling the Cameron estate, but none of it drowns out the voices raised around you.

You stand in the middle of a group of Pogues—your people. Or at least, they used to be. Right now, they feel more like enemies.

"You always do this!" JJ throws his hands up. "Act like you're better than the rest of us, like you don’t need anyone."

"That’s not what I’m doing." Your voice is firm, but they’re not listening.

Kiara scoffs, arms crossed. "Then what do you call it? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, you’re just a traitor. A fake-ass Pogue."

Your chest tightens. "Seriously? Because I don’t agree with you? Because I think for myself?"

"Nah," Pope cuts in, shaking his head. "Because you’re selfish. Always looking out for yourself first."

The words sting, but you refuse to let it show. "Right, because I don’t just follow whatever stupid plan you guys come up with, that makes me selfish?"

JJ steps closer, voice lower now but no less harsh. "Nah, what makes you selfish is acting like we’re the bad guys when all we ever did was have your back."

That one nearly knocks the wind out of you. You want to argue, to defend yourself, but before you can—

"Oh, shut the hell up."

A new voice cuts through the tension, slurred but sharp.

Rafe Cameron. Drunk.

Heads turn as he pushes through, beer bottle dangling from his fingers, a lazy smirk on his lips. He’s drunk, but his gaze is locked on the Pogues with crystal-clear amusement.

"Y’all are real funny." He steps in between you and them, turning to look them over like they’re a joke. "Thought Pogues were all about loyalty. Ride or die and all that bullsh*t. But nah—looks like you'd rather tear her apart for sport. Kinda disgusting, don’t you think?"

JJ clenches his jaw. "No one asked you, Rafe."

"Yeah?" Rafe tilts his head, eyes dark. "Well, I don’t really give a shit." He turns toward you now, his voice dipping lower, just for you. "You really let these idiots talk to you like that?"