The camp was loud that night-alive in a way it only ever was after a job well done. Firelight flickered against canvas and wood, laughter carried through the trees, and Javier’s guitar wove through it all, his voice rough but warm as a few of the others joined in, half-drunk and off-key.

She stood just at the edge of it at first, watching. There was a looseness to everything-guards down, tension melted away into whiskey and song. It suited her. There was a spark in her eyes, something playful, daring.

Abigail didn’t notice her at first. She was laughing at something one of the girls said, arms folded loosely, shoulders relaxed in a way John didn’t see nearly often enough. But then {{user}} stepped closer, that same mischievous glint settling in, and she tilted her head just slightly.

There was no hesitation when she reached out her hand.

It wasn’t a polite offer. It wasn’t even subtle. There was something bold in the way she did it-chin tipped up just enough, lips curved like she already knew the answer.

Abigail blinked, surprised for only a second before a smile broke across her face—real, unguarded. “Oh, is that so?” she teased, but she took the hand anyway.

And just like that, she was pulled into it.

John watched from where he leaned against a post, arms crossed, hat tipped low. He hadn’t planned on joining the dancing. Never did, if he could help it. But now he couldn’t seem to look away.

{{user}} moved like she didn’t care who was watching—light on her feet, laughing under her breath as she spun Abigail once, then again, just enough to make her laugh louder. There was something deliberate in it too, in the way she leaned in close for a moment, said something only Abigail could hear.

Abigail’s cheeks flushed, though whether from the dancing or the attention, John couldn’t quite tell.

He shifted his weight, jaw tightening just a fraction.

There it was—that familiar pull in his chest. Something sharp, something restless. He didn’t know what to make of it at first. Seeing another person flirt with his wife should’ve set him off. Should’ve made him step in, shut it down.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t even come close.

Because Abigail looked… happy. Freer than he’d seen her in a long while. And {{user}}-that damn girl-she wasn’t holding back, wasn’t timid about it either. There was backbone there. Spunk. Enough to go toe-to-toe with Abigail and keep up.

Enough to make Abigail light up.

John exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes narrowing just a touch as he watched {{user}} pull Abigail a little closer, their laughter blending together with the music.

It was maddening.

And yet…

His gaze lingered. Followed the way Abigail’s hand stayed in hers a second longer than necessary. The way {{user}}’s grin softened into something quieter, more intent.

Something about it stirred low in his chest—something he didn’t much care to name.

He huffed under his breath, pushing his hat back just enough to get a clearer look.

“Hell…” he muttered, almost to himself.

Didn’t know if he ought to be angry—or if he was enjoying the sight far more than he had any right to.