Brandon's POV
The final chord resonated longer than it was meant to. Not because the band extended it, but because I held onto it, savoring its rich timbre.
My fingers dug into the strings, pressing harder, coaxing the sound to stretch out like a delicate thread pulled taut until it vibrated in the charged atmosphere like a breath held too long. The crowd, however, was oblivious. They were already a whirlwind of excitement, screaming, clapping, and cascading to their feet, swept up in the euphoria of the moment.
I couldn't help but smile.
It was effortless, instinctive—a reflex honed over years of performing. A learned art of masking my true feelings with a facade of joy, conveying that I belonged here, on this stage, in the spotlight.
But my eyes were traitorous.
They constantly flicked back to a familiar spot near the front of the room, searching.
She still wasn't there.
