“Don’t move, Beatrice,” Liam said quickly, taking a long step forward to draw her eyes back to him.

He held up his phone, the screen glowing a bright, cold blue in the darkness.

“Look at the screen,” Liam said, his voice loud and commanding. “The funds are ready for authorization.”

Beatrice’s eyes flicked back to Liam, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“You’re lying,” she spat, but her hand lowered a fraction of an inch away from the fuel container.

“I don’t lie about money, Beatrice,” Liam said, his voice steady and calm.

“Five million dollars,” he added, his tone almost conversational. “It is more than you lost in the audit.”

I did not wait to hear her answer.

I slid into the narrow opening behind the collapsed stage, letting the darkness swallow me.

The air in the corridor was freezing and smelled of wet ash and decay.

I remembered this passage from when I was eight years old, before the fire ruined everything.

It led directly to the small prompter’s box behind the main stage.

I kept my shoulder pressed against the cold brick wall, guiding myself through the pitch black.