Micah stepped out of the cafe and walked toward the car, deep in thought. His brows drew together beneath the shadow of his cap, chewing the inside of his cheek. He had his suspicions that Azalea turning into a black fan had something to do with the manager. But now, after hearing the story, his hope sank. There was no evidence. The story was too vague. Maybe in the end, he couldn't find anything useful from her.
He exhaled through his nose, the breath heavy enough to fog his glasses briefly. He slowed his steps as the car came into view. His hand lifted toward the door handle, but before he could touch it, another hand grasped it first. Clyde stood beside him, opening the door for him with a calm expression.
Micah blinked once, then glanced at him, his brow arched. "Had your fun?" His voice was filled with sarcasm.
Clyde shook his head slowly; his gaze flashed with a touch of unease. "Sorry…"
