Chapter 21: Ronan's POV

Ronan's POV

The wall went dark at forty-one minutes, and I was already running.

I had a laptop under my arm and a black jacket over my shoulders.

I took the service stairs two at a time down to the sound desk at the back of the house.

The stage manager had paid the booth to kill the main feed.

He had not paid anyone to watch the cable I had run on Tuesday afternoon, under the carpet at the end of row Z.

The heavyset man in the headset had eaten my cookies and told me he'd check his schedule.

The wall had a second input.

I knelt beside the desk and pushed the plug into the port.

"Kill it," the stage manager said again over the speakers. "Get her out of there."

Two ushers were coming down the left aisle toward the front row with their hands out.

A man in a security shirt was behind them.

In the dark, I could see her.

Nessa stood where she had been standing, in the middle of the row, in a gray dress.

Her chin was up and her hands were loose at her sides.

She wasn't looking for me.

She had never looked for me, and I knew by now that she did not need to.

I hit the space bar.

The wall behind the stage came on.

It was white first, and then a dining room, bright and square, with a ring light flaring in a cabinet door.

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