Page 22 of Secrets in the Dark

"I won't." I gathered my script and a water bottle, steeling myself for the performance ahead. "But thank you. For the breathing thing."

He nodded once, then surprised me by carefully collecting the velvet box. "I'll dispose of this where it won't be found. Better than leaving it for housekeeping to discover."

Relief washed through me. "Thank you."

As he left, I caught a glimpse of his expression—not the concern I expected, but something harder, more calculating. For a moment, Roman King looked less like a sympathetic casino dealer and more like someone accustomed to assessing threats.

I filed the observation away as I hurried to the stage, wondering not for the first time who Roman really was—and why he seemed so invested in my safety.

"Light cue seventeen after the drum roll, not during," Val instructed from center stage. "I need complete darkness for three seconds before Nova appears in the levitation rig."

The technical director nodded, making adjustments to his tablet. Around us, the theater hummed with pre-show preparations—sound engineers testing levels, stagehands positioning props, lighting technicians programming complex sequences.

I stood offstage in the midnight-blue corset and matching skirt, waiting for my cue. The quick-release mechanism pressed reassuringly against my hip—a small comfort after the terror of the threatening note. Val had been right. Knowing escape was a movement away provided a security I desperately needed.

"Places for the finale," Val called. "Full technical run-through, no stops unless absolutely necessary."

I moved to my mark, focusing on the sequence ahead rather than the morning's disturbing events. The finale involved my "levitation" above the stage while Val created the illusion of passing solid metal hoops around my suspended body. The trickrelied on precise timing, hidden supports, and carefully angled lighting to convince the audience that I floated unsupported in midair.

The music swelled—dramatic orchestral pieces that Val had specially commissioned for her show. Lights dimmed to a single spotlight on center stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Val intoned, her performance voice carrying to the back of the empty theater, "what you are about to witness defies the very laws of nature. Gravity itself will bend to the power of—"

A sharp metallic crack interrupted her patter. Then another, louder and more ominous.

I looked up instinctively as a third crack echoed through the theater—and saw the massive lighting grid directly above Val begin to tilt at an unnatural angle.

"Val!" I screamed. "Move!"

She reacted instantly, diving sideways as two thousand pounds of lights, metal framework, and electrical equipment crashed onto the stage with a deafening impact. Sparks flew. Glass shattered. The sound reverberated through the theater like a bomb detonation.

For a moment, stunned silence gripped everyone present. Then chaos erupted—technicians shouting, stagehands rushing forward, security personnel materializing from the wings.

"Is anyone hurt?" The stage manager's voice cut through the pandemonium.

By some miracle, Val had cleared the impact zone. She stood shakily at the edge of the destruction, face pale beneath her makeup, but apparently uninjured.

"What the hell happened?" she demanded, her usual composure shattered.

The technical director approached the fallen grid cautiously. "The mounting bolts... they're sheared clean through." He held up a metal fragment for inspection. "This isn't equipment failure. These were deliberately cut."

Ice flooded my veins. I knew instantly, with bone-deep certainty, that the sabotaged lighting grid was connected to the velvet box. The message played through my mind:All magic ends in blood.

This hadn't been a threat. It had been a warning of what was coming.

Security personnel flooded the stage, Enzo Grimaldi at their center. His eyes swept the destruction with cold efficiency before landing on me with an intensity that sent warning signals flaring through my system.

"Everyone to the green room," he ordered. "Now. Full security lockdown until we determine exactly what happened here."

As I followed the shaken crew offstage, I caught sight of Roman watching from the sound booth, his expression unreadable at this distance. But his rigid posture conveyed what words couldn't—this was no accident.

The emergency security meeting that followed was a blur of questions, theories, and reassurances that felt increasingly hollow. Enzo stood before the assembled cast and crew, projecting calm authority that didn't reach his eyes.

"We've reviewed the preliminary evidence," he announced. "This appears to be a case of targeted sabotage. The bolts securing the lighting grid were partially sawed through—enough to weaken the structure while leaving it apparentlyintact until the vibration of the sound system triggered the collapse."

Murmurs rippled through the gathered staff. Val, still visibly shaken, spoke what everyone was thinking: "Someone tried to kill me."

Enzo's expression remained neutral. "We don't know the intended target or motive yet. Until we do, we're implementing enhanced security protocols. Additional cameras will be installed throughout the performance areas. Security personnel will conduct regular sweeps. All staff will use buddy systems when moving through non-public areas."

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