He lets out a short laugh.
“Relax,” he says. “Didn’t realise she needed a bodyguard.”
Christina’s hand finds my arm.
“I’m fine,” she says quietly.
I know she is.
That isn’t the point.
He looks at her again.
Then back at me.
“You locals are getting sensitive,” he says. “Used to be different.”
Behind me, I can hear movement. Chairs shifting. The others standing, not crowding, but present.
Not intervening.
Not leaving.
He notices it too.
His eyes move past me briefly, taking in the table behind me. Alex. Chris. Tommy. Nick. Rob. Emma.
Witnesses.
The balance shifts, almost imperceptibly.
He exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s already bored of this.
“Whatever,” he mutters.
He steps past Christina again.
This time he doesn’t touch her.
He walks toward the bar like nothing has happened, like he hasn’t just left something broken behind him.
The noise of the pub fills the space he leaves.
I don’t move.
I can feel Christina beside me, close enough that I’m aware of the warmth of her arm against mine.
“I’m okay,” she says.
I turn to look at her.
Her chin is lifted, her expression composed, but there’s something else there too. Not fear. Not weakness.
Something harder.
Something familiar.
Emma steps closer to her immediately.