Page 97 of Heat Unwritten
The lights on the stage dimmed.
"Cues are live," a voice whispered in my earpiece.
It wasn't the stage manager. It was Simon.
"Simon?" I hissed as I touched the small receiver in my ear.
"I've got you, Tess," Simon’s voice was tight, wired, crackling with his specific brand of frantic genius. "I’m in the projection booth. I can see you on the wing camera."
"I can't move my feet," I whispered.
"Yes, you can," Simon said. "Look at the stage. Look at what I made for you."
On the monitor, the backdrop of the theater dissolved.
It wasn't a screen lowering; it was a holographic projection mapping that covered the entire stage opening.
The darkness bloomed into color. Deep, rich indigos. Violent, burning golds. Stark, charcoal blacks.
It was art.Hisart.
Massive sketches formed out of the darkness. They were animated, rough charcoal lines sketching themselves into existence in real-time. I saw the jagged cliffs of the Iron Coast. I saw the interior of the High Council chamber.
And then, the characters.
Halcious stood tall and rigid, a figure of charcoal and ice. Kavlar rose like a mountain of stone. Silar crouched in the shadows, eyes gleaming.
But they weren't the focus.
They were forming a circle. They were looking inward. And in the center of the projection, a negative space formed. A silhouette of light waiting to be filled.
"That's you," Simon whispered in my ear. "That's your spot. The composition is unbalanced without you. You have to complete the line."
I felt a tug in my chest. Not fear. Gravity.
The art demanded resolution. Simon had drawn a world that was waiting for its creator.
"And now," Daniel’s voice boomed, turning toward the wings, his arm extending in an invitation that felt like a lifeline. "The architect of the Oath. The voice in the silence. Please welcome... T.L. Rose."
The crowd roared.
It wasn't mockery. It wasn't the tentative applause of a graduation ceremony. It was a thunderclap of excitement.
Iron doesn't break,I told myself.It hardens.
I pushed off the small table. I walked to the curtain. The stage manager pulled the velvet back.
The light hit me.
It was blinding, white and chemical, searing my retinas. For a split second, the smell of Brine and Panic spiked in my sweat. The roar of the crowd sounded like the ocean coming to swallow me.
Step.
My heel hit the stage floor.Click.
Step.
Click.
