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“I’m not trying to win.”

That seemed to stop her more effectively than disagreement would have.

We found Troy near the performer entrance to the Harvest Table, helping another actor reset floor markings. Without stage makeup, he looked younger than I expected.

His eyes moved to Sybil, then me.

“So I get an escort too now?”

“No,” Sybil said. “You get to stay behind your tape.”

He grimaced. “I deserved that.”

I looked at the fresh marking on the floor. “Justin put you back on the limit last night?”

Troy’s shoulders tightened.

“He said I crowded a guest.”

“Did you?”

“I pushed the scare too far. The guy backed into the wall. Nobody got hurt.”

“Because Justin stopped it,” Sybil said.

Troy looked at her, irritation flashing and disappearing just as quickly. “I know.”

The answer sounded genuine enough.

That proved nothing either.

As we walked away, I asked, “Who else knew last year’s version as well as the current staff?”

“Plenty of returning people. Maintenance. Some performers.” She thought for a moment. “Grant Bellamy ran effects and safety last season.”

“Still here?”

“No. I fired him.”

“For?”

“Repeated safety problems. The last one nearly got somebody hurt.”

Her tone was matter-of-fact.

“How did he take it?”

“Badly enough to argue. Not badly enough that I thought he’d kill someone a year later.”

“I want O’Shea to include him with the others.”

“I assumed he would.”

She didn’t defend him or try to turn him into a villain.

We looped back toward the structure with the painted pumpkin lantern after checking a radio station, two staff crossings, and the bypass around the sealed room.

Sybil was explaining how she planned to stagger arrivals under the reduced-capacity schedule when she stopped.