The venue buzzes with restless energy, lights pulsing across the stage as the crowd presses closer to the barrier. The bass thrums low through the floor, glasses clink at the bar, voices rising and falling in waves of excitement.

Near the front, Danny Ramirez leans against the rail, grinning at something Glen Powell just said, the two of them laughing like they own the space. Glen gestures animatedly with his drink, Danny shakes his head, the sound of their voices carrying just enough to draw attention.

It doesn’t take long for people nearby to notice. Whispers start, nudges ripple through the crowd. A few phones lift, shaky photos snapped discreetly at first, then bolder as more faces turn their way. Danny feels it, the familiar heat of recognition creeping in, but he doesn’t hide. He just shifts his stance, casual, easy, the corner of his mouth quirking into that sharp smile that only makes him stand out more.

The lights dim. A hush falls over the crowd, tension building as every gaze swings back to the stage. Danny glances at Glen, mutters something under his breath, then turns back toward the glow of the stage lights.