Page 218 of Irreversible

I burst through the curtain, my head held high. It’s another confident strut across the stage as I approach the narrow runway.

Water sprinkles down from the ceiling to mimic raindrops, catching the light in delicate arcs as I twirl the umbrella above my head, the fabric snapping open with awhoosh. I feel the unfamiliar beat reverberating through the soles of my stilettos, unsettling the flow of my steps as I near the edge of the platform.

The lights flicker.

The crowd’s energy shifts, the applause faltering. A few whispers ripple through the front rows, but I’m too focused on staying on my feet to figure out what’s going on. I twirl the umbrella again. Droplets continue to rain down, sluicing my skin.

A shiver dances down my back.

And then, just as I reach the far edge, unhooking my belt, I notice movement from the sidelines. The production crew converses with nervous energy. The buzz of the audience dips into an uncomfortable silence.

My instincts ping with apprehension.

Something is off.

But before I can process a coherent thought?—

A shrieking alarm fires through the building.

Deafening sirens.

I’m frozen to the platform, the umbrella tumbling from my hand as my pulse cranks into overdrive and my lungs lock up. I clamp my hands over my ears, my vision blurring.

Chaos unleashes.

Bodies scatter.

I’m paralyzed, rooted to the end of a runway in a floral dress and raincoat, soaked and terrified.

Move, Everly.

MOVE!

I croak out a sound, my gaze darting through the scrambling masses, searching for Jasper. He’s not there. Maybe he’s already made it out. Spinning to face the stage, I force my spaghetti legs into action, darting forward, searching for the nearest exit. There’s one behind me, teeming with frantic bodies.

Pivoting, I crouch down, inching my way off the platform and sliding to the floor. Adrenaline fuels my steps as I weave through the panicked crowd, my heart hammering in my chest. My breath is ragged as I make it past the nearest cluster of people.

The exit is ahead…just a few more steps.

But a rough hand grips my arm, yanking me to a halt.

“Get back on the platform!” the voice commands.

Flinching, I twist to face him—an unfamiliar man in black clothing, his dark eyes flashing with urgency. His grip is tight, painful.

“What—” I try to pull away. “What do you mean?”

“You need to get back on the platform—now.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

I hesitate, heart pounding in my throat.

“Backstage exit,” he orders, attention darting toward the chaos behind me. “Go!”

The sound of panicked footsteps reverberates around us, mixing with shrill shrieks of terror. The lights go in and out, and everything feels like it’s on the brink of imploding. I’m being herded, cornered, and I can’t do anything but comply as I shakily climb my way back onto the platform and head for the backstage exit.

Water gushes from the hydraulic system, compromising my footing as the runway slickens and my heels wobble and slide. I hardly make it two feet before I slip, face-planting mid-escape. Fear hollows out my chest as panic skews my vision.

Holding back a sob, I pull myself up and try again?—

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