But just as I turned, ready to confront him, he vanished, melting into the crowd like he’d never been there. I whirled around and headed straight home.
My pulse was still jackhammering when I finally reached my apartment door.
Once inside, I dropped my bag and leaned against the wall.
Breathe. Just breathe.
I wasn’t going to let this scare me. I was smarter than that.
Okay, maybe not smarter, but I was determined.
I had my firstCity Songrehearsal tonight. There was a brand new world waiting for me at Playwrights Haven. Lights, music, dancing. Real people who believed in me.
I wasn’t going to give that up.
Not because some greasy enforcer had shown me a picture of bound, captive women and threatened to “relocate” me.
I just had to get through tonight.
Keep my head down.
Play the part.
And figure out how to escape The Sacrifice before it swallowed me whole.
I showed up twenty minutes early.
I couldn’t help it. I’d barely been able to catch a little nap, and I was still struggling to get control of all the emotions running through me. Between the excitement of my first rehearsal and the adrenaline from this morning, I could hardly sit still. But when I stepped through the glass doors of Playwrights Haven, it all fell away like dust.
This was it.
My dream.
The expansive lobby buzzed with familiar creative chaos—people bustled around with canvas totes slung over their shoulders, stood chatting and bouncing on their toes, or sat shuffling through scripts. A hint of hairspray and mint tea wafted through the air. Laughter echoed down the hallway, and the rhythmic thud of music pulsed from the rehearsal space.
A tall guy with tousled brown hair and kind eyes spotted me from across the room and headed toward me.
“You Lyla?” he asked, tossing a half-eaten granola bar into the trash as he approached.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
He grinned and stuck out his hand. “I’m Jesse. Part of the ensemble. Welcome to the circus.”
I smiled. “Glad to be here.”
Two women walked up from behind him to join us—one a petite blonde with a nose ring, the other an athletic girl with waist-length braids.
“I’m Kylee,” said the blonde. “Costumes and chaos.”
“Danika,” the other said with a wink. “I play Dottie. Backup vocals, sass, and endless stage-right exits.”
They pulled me into their orbit as if we’d known each other forever. Before I could overthink anything, I was ushered through the hallway and into the dressing area.
“Changing rooms are basically communal this week,” Kylee said. “Just don’t flash the lighting techs, and you’re golden.”
I switched my jeans out for my black dance pants and then slipped off my hoodie. Beneath it, I wore a plain white tee over a black leo. Sneakers off, dance shoes on. Hair up in a quick bun. I felt more like myself than I had in days.
We walked into the rehearsal room together, and the moment I stepped onto the Marley floor, it hit me—this was real.
