A body falls from the balcony.
Two.
Another drops near the exit.
Three.
Kai's hand closes around my arm.
"This way."
His voice is sharp—commanding—the voice of a pack leader taking control of a crisis. He's pulling me toward a side corridor, away from the main theater, away from the violence that's still erupting behind us.
"The others?—"
"Can handle themselves. We need to move."
I don't argue.
Can't argue.
The adrenaline is surging through my system now, drowning out everything except the immediate need to survive. My legs move without conscious thought, following Kai throughdarkened hallways, past doors I don't recognize, deeper into the bowels of the theater complex.
Where are we going?
What's the plan?
Why is he taking me away from the pack?
The questions surface and submerge, lost in the chaos of flight.
Gunfire echoes behind us—distant now, muffled by walls and distance. The sounds of combat continue, but we're pulling away from it, moving toward something else.
Escape route.
He has an escape route.
Of course he does.
Kai always has a plan.
A door appears.
Emergency exit, the kind that leads to back alleys and loading docks and all the unglamorous parts of buildings that audiences never see.
Kai kicks it open.
Sunlight floods the corridor—bright after the darkness of the theater, disorienting after the controlled lighting of the stage. I squint against it, trying to make out details of where we are.
Alley.
Behind the theater.
Delivery entrance.
A black car is already there.
Idling at the curb, engine running, waiting for us like it was always part of the plan.
