Page 186 of Stay Scared

“All I had to do was give them instructions they already expected to obey.”

His glove tightens around my arm.

“The schedule did the rest.”

I glance at him. “What schedule?”

Rook catches the bait and resents it at the same time.

“You think six operators happened to leave the control room together?”

His voice sharpens.

“I moved breaks. Shifted medical coverage. Changed two performer rotations so the people most likely to question the evacuation were nowhere near the rooms I needed cleared.”

He looks toward the monitor with pride he does not bother hiding.

“They put themselves where I wanted them.”

He is not giving a deposition. He is explaining his masterpiece.

I watch the comments begin changing. People quote his words back into the feed. Someone types HE JUST ADMITTED IT. Rook keeps talking, either oblivious to the shift or too pleased to notice.

“You needed an empty park,” I say.

“I needed fewer interruptions.”

His grip loosens slightly as he looks toward Mark.

“Ross was not supposed to move.”

Mark’s eyes harden. Rook sees it. “He heard a cue and decided he knew better.” The knife lifts.

“He got in the way.”

“You stabbed him.”

Rook looks at me. “He should have stayed down.” The words come flat. Behind him, Mark closes his freed hand into a fist. The public comments explode. Rook finally looks at them.

His head turns toward the screen, and the realization hits his posture before his voice. The knife comes back under my ribs, harder.

“You set this up.”

I laugh once. “You planned all of it.” His hand snaps around the back of my neck and forces my face toward the camera.

“Tell them what the three of them did to you.”

There it is. His escape route. Broadcast Cade, Owen, and Ash again. I stare into the lens. Rook presses the knife against my shirt. “Tell them Mercer held you when you told him to stop.”

I say nothing.

“Owen Shaw followed you for months.”

The blade drags. A sharp sting opens beneath my ribs. The cut is shallow, but my body locks against the pain. Rook feels it.

“Ash Langston built a private attraction around a woman who needed the money badly enough to walk through his gate.”

His hand forces my head back. “Tell them.” I look at the camera. “They already saw it.” Rook’s grip tightens. “Say it.”