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To forever.

To us.

The hidden passage behind my dressing room had led through old maintenance corridors I never knew existed.

Then, stairs—a lot of them.

Then another locked door.

And now—the roof.

The wind whips around us.

Thunder rolls overhead.

One of those strange summer storms where the sky is still gray blue with evening light while rain threatens in the distance.

My hair flies into my face.

The city stretches below.

Tiny lights.

Tiny people.

Tiny lives.

And suddenly I feel very, very small.

I don’t know why this is happening—but I also know I can’t just allow it.

I won’t be a victim—not for anyone.

“Please,” I whisper. “Don't do this.”

“Shut up!”

The voice cracks.

Not angry. Just emotional.

Crazed. Unstable.

I slowly turn and take it all in.

The hooded raincoat.

The baseball cap.

The mask.

Everything that’s hiding the face of the person pointing a gun at me—but it can’t hide who they are.

I think I know this person.

This is—oh no, it can’t be.

I must be wrong.