EMORY'S POV
Andre’s place wasn’t far from our apartment. Just a ten-minute walk through quiet streets lined with flickering streetlights. The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of approaching autumn. Drake and I walked side by side, while Andre led the way ahead.
His apartment was on the second floor of a small complex—modern yet inviting. Inside, the space was unmistakably him: warm lighting, sleek furniture, and a bookshelf overflowing with action figures, comic books, and vinyl records.
It was so much better and looks more expensive than our place.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Andre said, kicking off his shoes. “Want anything to drink?”
“Water’s fine,” I said, sinking into the couch.
Drake flopped down beside me. “Same.”
Andre scoffed. “No, no. We’re having something
