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Luca watches her hurry away.

“Look at you,” he says. “Taking charge.”

“Somebody has to.”

“Front man’s back.”

I don’t answer.

That’s when I notice the men crossing the room.

You develop a sense for someone moving directly toward you. I’ve had years of practice recognizing the soft, eager approach of fans who want photographs.

This isn’t that.

This is a group in matching quarter-zips cutting through the crowd with purpose. Two peel away as they get closer.

Jonny Reyes keeps coming.

Miles follows half a step behind him, the same position he occupied through most of high school.

Nothing has changed.

Luca spots them too. He sets down his bass and moves beside me.

Not in front.

Beside.

“Jonny,” he says pleasantly. “Miles.”

“Luca Castellano.” Jonny looks him over. “Didn’t think you’d stoop to Mountain Springs.”

“I go where I’m needed.”

“That what this is?”

Jonny’s gaze moves to me.

The smile settles comfortably onto his face.

“Or did you come to check whether he’s still alive?”

“Jonny,” I say.

“Heard you were back.” He looks at the UMS logo on the wall, then at me. “Studying.”

He manages to turn the word into a diagnosis.

“Biology,” I say.

“Good for you. Mature.” His grin widens. “Bit of a step down from talk shows and arenas, but we all knew the fame wouldn’t last forever.”

Anger slides hot beneath my skin.

I keep my expression easy.

“You here for Sam?”