NOAH
The silence in the booth was so thick it felt like it had physical weight. It wasn't just the shock of seeing the CEO of XUM in a neon-lit karaoke den; it was the way he stood there, radiating a cold, predatory stillness that made the upbeat pop music in the background sound like a funeral dirge.
I stared at the hand that had snatched the glass. It was steady, the skin pale and flawless against the charcoal wool of his sleeve. My eyes traveled up the arm, over the broad set of his shoulders, and finally landed on his face.
Cassian.
He didn't say a word to me. He simply tilted the shot glass back, draining the clear, biting liquid in one effortless swallow. He set the glass down on the low table with a sharp clack that made every single person in the booth flinch as if a gun had gone off.
Oh god. Oh no. Oh god, my brain chanted in a frantic, unhelpful loop. Why is he here? How did he find us? When did he—?
"Is this how you all spend your evenings?" Cassian asked.
