POV: Millie
Han stood at the edge of the dance floor like a statue made of pure anger. His jaw was tight, and tension rolled off him in waves. His eyes cut to Coyote behind the bar first - sharp and direct - then snapped back to me with an intensity that made my breath catch. He was pissed about what he'd walked in on. I could see it in every rigid inch of him, in the way his hands had curled into fists.
I held my ground. I wasn't going to be the first one to look away. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction.
Instead, I elbowed past him and headed back to the table. The shot Coyote had bought me was still sitting there untouched, the amber liquid catching the dim bar light. I picked it up, turned toward the bar, and tipped the glass in a small toast before drinking it down in one smooth
