The wind is louder up here.
It doesn't howl like people think—it whispers. Soft. Persistent. Like it's waiting for me to slip.
Clink.
The last glass panel locks into place beneath my feet. I don't look down. Not yet. Looking down is a privilege, and I don't waste it before the show starts.
"Vee, you're up in thirty," Kade's voice crackles through the earpiece.
"Thirty?" I murmur, flexing my fingers. "You're late."
"Client wanted a change in lighting. Again."
Of course they did. They always do. People like this don't pay for consistency—they pay to feel like they're controlling something dangerous.
"Tell Mira if she blinds me mid-spin, I'm kicking her off the rig," I say flatly.
There's a pause, then Mira cuts in, offended. "Oh please, like you'd survive without me making you look good."
I smirk, adjusting the thin silk gloves over my hands. "I don't need help for that."
Click.
The harness clip dangles at my side. Decorative. Useless. It's there for the illusion of safety. I don't wear it. Never have.
"Final check," Kade says. "Glass tension stable. Wind speed slightly higher than forecast. You sure you don't want the backup line tonight?"
I step forward, the first heel pressing onto the transparent panel. The city yawns beneath me—lights bleeding into each other, cars crawling like veins of fire.
"No," I answer simply.
A beat.
"Yeah," Kade exhales. "Didn't think so."
Thump.
Music starts low. Deep bass. It vibrates through the metal frame before rising into the air around me.
That's my cue.
I take another step. Then another.
The glass hums faintly beneath my weight. Every movement calculated. Every breath timed.
Below, I hear them—voices layered over music. Laughter. Glasses clinking. Money talking like it always does.
"Is she really not strapped in?" someone says.
"That's the point," another replies. "She falls, she dies. That's what you're paying for."
I almost laugh.
Idiots.
They think this is about falling.
It never is.
I lift my arms slowly, letting the silk sleeves trail behind me like smoke. The spotlight hits—soft at first, then sharper. Mira's behaving. Good.
"Showtime, Vee," she whispers.
I step into the center panel.
Creak.
The rig shifts slightly.
Not unusual.
But I feel it. A subtle imbalance.
"Did you feel that?" I murmur.
Kade responds instantly. "Feel what?"
"The left anchor—"
"It's fine," he cuts in. "Probably wind shear."
Probably.
I let it go.
The music rises, pulling me into motion.
Spin.
My heel pivots, body turning with controlled fluidity. The city spins with me, lights smearing into streaks of gold and white.
Step.
Pause.
Lean.
The crowd quiets. I can feel it—the shift in attention, the collective breath being held.
This is the moment they love.
The almost.
I tilt forward, just enough that gravity starts to whisper against my balance.
A woman gasps below.
"Yes," a man murmurs. "That's it."
I hold the position for exactly three seconds. Then—
Tap.
A sound in my earpiece. Not Kade. Not Mira.
Different.
Lower.
"...careful."
I freeze. Just for a fraction of a second.
"What?" I whisper.
Silence.
"Kade?"
"I didn't say anything," he replies, confused.
Mira cuts in, "Not me either. You okay?"
I straighten slowly, heart steady—but my mind sharper now.
That voice...
It wasn't part of the system.
"Check the line," I say under my breath.
"Already am," Kade answers. "Everything's clean."
No interference. No static.
Then who the hell—
The music shifts, forcing me forward. I can't stop now. Not here. Not in front of them.
I move again.
Faster this time.
Spin. Step. Turn.
The rig responds, but something feels... off. Not unstable—just different. Like the tension has been adjusted without telling me.
"Mira, lighting feels tighter," I say.
"It's not," she replies. "Same settings."
No.
Something changed.
I feel it in the rhythm.
In the way the glass answers back.
Below, the audience is quieter now. Not bored—focused. Watching closer than usual.
Too close.
I glance down.
That's when I see it.
The front row has shifted.
New faces.
Not the usual bored billionaires or thrill-seeking elites. These men aren't drinking. They're not talking.
They're watching like they already know how this ends.
My stomach tightens.
"Kade," I say, voice low. "Who's front row tonight?"
"Same list as always," he replies. "Why?"
"No," I murmur. "Not the same."
Crack.
The sound slices through everything.
Sharp. Sudden. Wrong.
The glass beneath my left foot fractures—just a hairline—but enough.
Enough to kill me.
"Vee!" Mira shouts.
"I see it," I snap, shifting my weight instantly.
The panel holds. Barely.
"Kade, what the hell was that?"
"I—I don't know," he stammers. "That panel was reinforced—"
"Not anymore," I cut him off.
My pulse stays steady, but every nerve is awake now.
This isn't random.
Glass doesn't just crack mid-performance. Not mine. Not like this.
Below, the silence deepens.
No panic.
No shouting.
Just... anticipation.
Like they've been waiting for this exact moment.
My gaze flicks back to the front row.
One of the men leans slightly forward.
Not alarmed.
Interested.
And then—
He tilts his head.
Just a fraction.
Like he's studying me.
Like he already knows what I'll do next.
My earpiece clicks again.
That same voice.
Calm. Controlled. Too close.
"Don't step back," he says quietly.
I go still.
"Shift right."
My jaw tightens.
"Who the hell is this?" I demand.
No answer.
Just that same low voice, steady as the ground I no longer trust.
"Or you fall."
To be continued...