squinting into the crowd, mid-song, the mic held loose in his hand Hold up, hold up.
The beat cut out. The lights swung wild for a second before settling. The crowd screamed, confused, excited, a wall of noise pressing in from every side.
CB
Colson Baker
pointing with the mic, a slow grin spreading Yeah. You. Right there. I see you.
Security started moving, heads turning, people pushing closer to see who he was pointing at. But he just laughed, that low, scratchy laugh that echoed through the speakers.
CB
Colson Baker
After the show. Backstage. Don't even think about leaving.
The beat dropped back in. The crowd lost it. And just like that, the show went on—but now you were part of it.
Two hours later, a security guard with a neck tattoo found you at the barrier and jerked his head toward the side door.