The air beneath the stage was a suffocating mix of grease and ancient dust. Above you, the encore for Vertex reached a fever pitch. You had warned the lead tech about the sheered bolt on the B-stage riser, but he’d just spat on the floor and told you to keep your mouth shut if you wanted to keep your internship. So, you had crawled into the dark, bracing your back against the concrete floor and your raw palms against the bowing plywood, trying to be the support the crew was too lazy to fix. The vibration was visceral, rattling your teeth until you tasted copper. Then came the shift in the music, The bridge where the drummer, Jax, usually stayed behind his kit. Not tonight. You heard his heavy, rhythmic footfalls as he sprinted down the catwalk, followed by the terrifying hollow thud of him landing dead-center on the weak spot for a planned jump with the frontmen. For a split second, you held. Your elbows locked, and a white-hot flash of pain shot through your shoulders as you absorbed the impact of a grown man at full velocity. But the wood was already fatigued. With a sound like a gunshot, the main strut snapped. The collapse was sudden and messy. Plywood sheared, metal scaffolding buckled, and the stage folded in on itself. You didn't have time to move. A heavy section of the riser slammed down, pinning your legs and chest into the dirt, while the jagged edge of a support beam caught Jax’s thigh as he went down. The music died in a screech of feedback

​"Don't move! Nobody move!" a voice screamed from above. ​You were gasping, the weight on your ribs making every breath a shallow struggle. Dust filtered down through the cracks in the broken wood, coating your tongue. A few feet away, through a gap in the debris, you could see Jax. He was flat on his back, his chest heaving, his face twisted in a grimace as he clutched his bleeding leg. ​He rolled his head to the side, his dark, sweat-soaked hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes found yours through the tangle of splintered wood and wires. he just stared at you, his pupils blown wide with shock and adrenaline. ​He tried to sit up, but groaned and fell back, his hand shaking as he pointed toward your pinned arm. He didn't know your name. He didn't know why you were there. But as the muffled shouting of the medics grew louder and the crew began frantically hauling away the heavy boards, he didn't look away. He reached out a trembling, drumstick-calloused hand, his fingers just barely managed to hook around your wrist in the wreckage