He was walking down a Boston street late in the evening, just taking in the sights of the city and the glow of its endless lights.
Tristan's concert in the city was already done. Tomorrow, he was going to fly all the way back to Los Angeles for the last concert of the tour. This was his best opportunity to look around the new place, short of coming here for a vacation.
So far, Tristan didn't think Boston deserved more than a single evening of his time. The atmosphere here wasn't glamorous enough for his liking—Memphis and Las Vegas were much more to his taste.
It was at this moment that Tristan felt the pressure of someone's gaze on the back of his head. The gaze was too unmoving and intent to just belong to a passerby.
