The final seconds ticked away. Every piece was on the board, locked in its final position.
In the van, Caspian watched a split-screen monitor. On the left, the host of `Starlight Serenade` smiled blankly, listening to the countdown in his earpiece. On the right, a thermal image from a camera in the rafters showed two plainclothes officers moving to bracket the main aisle. The producer’s voice crackled in a secure feed. “Live in five… four…”
In the audience, Isolde raised her phone, using the black screen as a mirror. She touched up her lipstick, composing a look of brave, saintly suffering. She was ready for her close-up.
In the dressing room, Lyra placed a hand on her stomach. A tiny, fluttering kick. A secret miracle. She closed her eyes, focusing all her attention on that internal, private life. The returning roar of the crowd was a distant, irrelevant wave.
On stage, the red light on Camera One blinked on. The “APPLAUSE” sign flashed. The host beamed.
“Welcome back to the `Starlight Serenade` finale!” he boomed, his voice echoing through the studio. “In just a moment, we’ll announce our winner… but first, we have a very special presentation.”
The words scrolled up the teleprompter, a Trojan horse in plain sight.
In the van, Caspian saw the feed. He watched the host read the line that would begin the end. He turned to Marcus Thorne and gave a single, sharp nod.
The trap was now live.
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