Noah
I felt remarkably pleased with myself.
Walking into the stadium with Cassian on my left felt like a small, quiet victory.
I had done it. I had planned a night out. A date.
Well, not a date. A not-date. Because technically, Cassian had handed me his black credit card at the start of the week, raised an eyebrow, and told me to pick wherever I wanted us to spend an evening together.
I didn't know fancy restaurants. I didn't know dark, expensive wine bars where people spoke in low whispers and paid fifty dollars for a tiny plate of grass.
What I did know was that Vespera was coming to the city on their world tour, and I had wanted to see them live since I was eighteen years old.
Back then, I didn't have a spare hundred bucks to burn on a ticket. But this week, holding a piece of heavy black plastic with Cassian's name stamped on the front, I suddenly had all the money in the world.
So I bought three VIP passes.
