27. Jules #3
That is another incomplete truth. Mina has felt it following us around the world, and Blaire does not know.
I hate this.
“What did it do?” Bane asks.
Mina swallows. “Watched.”
The room falls silent.
“Energy output is already higher than baseline,” Remy says. “And the concert hasn’t started.”
“The audience has been engaging with the broadcast for nearly half an hour,” Camille says. “By the time the group takes the stage, their resonance channel will be operating at a higher level than projected.”
Blaire looks at Devin. “Then we cancel.”
“No,” he says immediately. “The arena is full. The international broadcast is active, and the contractual penalties for cancelling Tokyo would be substantial.”
“Jules could have died in Barcelona,” Blaire says.
“And she has been medically cleared.”
“For a modified performance.”
“The show proceeds,” Devin says. “That decision came directly from Voss.”
Blaire’s face turns cold. “Voss isn’t here.”
“No,” I mutter. “Funny how that works.”
Camille’s gaze moves to the glowing arena model. “Cancelling will not close the channel.”
Blaire looks at her sharply.
“It may make the situation worse,” Camille continues. “The audience is already emotionally engaged. If the show is stopped now without an explanation, fear and unrest will increase the output while the channel remains active.”
That is the public version of her reasoning.
The private version is waiting in the contracts hidden on her tablet.
We need the performance active so she can reach the internal structure. Remy needs the altered music running. Mina needs the Patron close enough to identify. Kaia needs us in formation.
And I need to keep whatever is looking for me from getting inside long enough for all of them to do it.
Blaire looks between Camille and Bane. “You’re both recommending we continue?”
Bane inclines his head. “With containment protocols.”
Camille’s answer takes half a second longer. “Yes.”
Blaire stares at her.
I feel how much the word costs Camille through the bond. She is watching me step onto the stage because her plan requires it, while every part of her wants to remove me from the building.
Blaire cannot feel that.
To her, Camille just sided with Devin.
Something in her expression closes.
“Fine,” she says. “Then no improvisation. We stay with the revised choreography, keep the formation tight, and stop the performance at the first sign of full possession.”
Kaia nods. “We’ve handled worse.”
Have we?
I don’t say it aloud.
Blaire points towards me. “You do not push through pain, dizziness, missing time, or anything else because you think the audience won’t notice.”
“I would never.”
Four people look at me.
“Okay, rude.”
“Jules,” Blaire says.
“I know.”
She studies me, and for one awful second I think she is going to ask again whether we are hiding something.
Instead, she turns to Camille. “You stay close enough to stabilize the bond.”
“I will.”
“Bane, I want you on the stage-left access point. If the wards shift, you tell me immediately.”
He nods once.
“Remy, you control the musical transitions. Kaia, you call any formation change. Mina…” Blaire’s expression softens. “You do not overextend your Sight.”
“I won’t.”
Another lie.
Smaller. Softer. Still a lie.
The secret plan sits beneath Blaire’s instructions like a second layer of choreography.
Stay in formation means hold until the bridge.
Remy controlling the transitions means she will insert the altered sequence and expose the pattern.
Mina limiting her Sight means she will wait until the Patron approaches before using Heartglass.
Camille staying close means she will begin rewriting the contracts while the channel is fully open.
And me?
My job is to keep the Patron focused on me until Camille exposes the contract layer.
Basically, I’m bait.
No one has used the word, but I can still recognize the role.
“Once the show begins, communication may become unreliable,” Camille says. Her voice is intended for everyone, but her eyes remain on me. “If anything changes, you stay with the planned sequence.”
The planned sequence.
Not Blaire’s plan.
Ours.
I nod once.
Blaire notices.
Her attention shifts between us again, suspicion sharpening.
A knock sounds at the door before she can speak.
“Positions in five,” someone calls from the corridor.
Right on time.
Of course.
Everyone begins moving. Bane retrieves his device. Devin leaves first, already speaking into his phone as if none of this involves him. Remy checks the small receiver hidden beneath her costume. Mina reaches for Kaia’s hand.
Blaire catches my arm as I pass.
Her grip is careful of my injuries.
“You tell me if something feels wrong,” she says quietly.
I almost laugh.
Everything feels wrong.
Instead, I look at her. At the person who has spent years asking us to trust her while fighting a system that never gave her enough power to protect us completely.
Guilt presses against the back of my throat.
“I will.”
She releases me.
Another lie.
The corridor outside is already vibrating with the crowd. The closer we get to the stage, the louder it becomes. Tens of thousands of voices, plus millions more connected through the broadcast.
The energy hits like a wave.
Harder than before. Stronger.
Feeding something.
I can feel the channel opening beneath the noise, the same pull that comes before every performance. Our resonance always reaches ahead of us, drawing demonic energy towards the stage before we sing a single note.
Usually it feels distant. Manageable. Like pressure gathering at the edge of a storm.
Tonight, it feels like a thread already looped around my ribs, tightening with every step.
Mina moves closer to me. Kaia takes the lead. Remy walks on my other side.
Together.
Camille follows just behind us.
I glance back.
She is already looking at me.
Of course she is.
The bond hums between us, carrying fear, determination, and something warmer that neither of us has said aloud.
Love.
Maybe hers.
Definitely mine.
That is a deeply inconvenient realization to have while walking towards possible ritual sacrifice.
Camille closes the distance until her hand brushes mine, hidden from the cameras lining the corridor.
“Stay with me,” she says quietly.
I smile because that is what I do.
But it does not feel like a joke when I answer.
“Always.”
The stage entrance opens.
Light explodes across the corridor. Sound crashes over us, loud enough to become physical.
We step forward together.
The instant my foot touches the stage, the connection tightens.
Not new.
Not unfamiliar.
Recognition.
Like something on the other side just found me.