Page 39 of Secrets in the Dark

Behind me, the door banged open.

"I’m coming for you, Celia," Tommy called, his voice eerily calm despite the flash powder attack. "You can’t hide from me."

I crouched behind a rack of feathered headdresses, my mind racing. The exit Roman mentioned had to be across the room—past at least twenty feet of open space Tommy would surely see me cross.

My gaze landed on a nearby shelf stacked with prop birds—the mechanical doves Val used in her finale. I grabbed one, its weighted metal body substantial in my palm. Throwing it as hard as I could toward the far corner, I watched as it clattered against a metal rack, white feathers flying.

Tommy whirled toward the sound, knife raised. "Clever girl," he murmured, advancing toward the distraction.

I seized the moment, darting toward the opposite exit. My fingers closed around the handle, twisting desperately—only to find it locked.

"Roman," I hissed into the earpiece. "The door's locked."

"Break right," he commanded. "Service ladder behind the red costume rack. It leads to the catwalk."

I dove behind the rack just as Tommy turned back, his gaze sweeping the room. The service ladder was there—narrow metal rungs ascending into darkness.

I began to climb, moving as silently as possible. The catwalk above would give me height advantage but leave me exposed. Below, Tommy methodically searched each costume rack, slashing fabrics with his knife as he went. Silk and satin tore under his blade, the ripping sounds heightening my terror.

"Keep climbing," Roman urged. "I'm almost there."

I reached the catwalk, a narrow metal walkway suspended above the costume storage. Below, Tommy had fallen silent, which terrified me more than his taunts. I crept forward, testing each step for creaks that might give away my position.

"Where are you?" I whispered into the earpiece.

"Approaching from the west corridor. Stay low."

The catwalk led toward another door—possibly a maintenance access to the main theater catwalks. If I could reach it, I might find my way back to the populated areas where Tommy wouldn't dare attack me openly.

I was halfway there when the catwalk shuddered. Tommy had found the ladder and was climbing up, moving with the efficiency of someone familiar with theater architecture.

No time for stealth now. I ran, boots clanging against metal as I sprinted for the exit door. Behind me, Tommy's heavier footsteps accelerated.

The door loomed closer—ten feet, five feet—my hand stretched toward the handle.

Something whistled past my ear, striking the door with a metallic thunk. Tommy's knife, embedded in the metal just inches from my head.

I froze, the momentary shock slowing me just enough. Tommy closed the distance, grabbing me from behind. He spun me around, his face contorted with rage, one hand closing around my throat while the other retrieved a second knife from his jacket.

"No more games," he snarled, backing me against the catwalk railing. Below, the costume storage room seemed miles away, a dizzying drop that would certainly break bones if not worse.

The blade kissed my throat—cold, sharp, and hungry. A sting bloomed just below my jaw.

"You took everything from us," Tommy hissed. "Now you'll understand what it means to lose everything too."

I clawed his arm, gasping for leverage, for breath—anything to break his grip before the knife dug deeper. The catwalk swayed beneath our struggle, the metal groaning ominously.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Roman's voice—not in my earpiece, but in the room. Tommy's head whipped around, the knife still pressed against my throat.

Roman stood at the catwalk entrance, his casual dealer's stance replaced by something harder, more authoritative. His hand no longer held cards but a gun, aimed with unwavering precision at Tommy's head.

"Let her go," Roman commanded. "Now."

Tommy's arm tightened around me, the knife pressing deeper. I felt a warm trickle of blood where the blade bit into my skin.

"Back off," Tommy warned. "Or I open her throat right here."

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