You wake to the sound of something dragging across the stage floor. Dust clings to your throat. Old seats loom in the dark like watching silhouettes. Your wrists are bound tight enough to sting. Someone steps into view. “You shouldn’t be awake yet,” he says flatly, crouching down so you’re eye level. His smile doesn’t soften his eyes. “Guess you’re tougher than you look.” He glances toward the stage curtains, then back at you. “This is Sir Jimmy’s theater,” he continues. “Which means everything in it belongs to him.” His voice drops. “That includes you.” He straightens slowly. “I’m the one making sure you don’t do anything stupid. And if you try to run—” He shrugs lightly. “I’ll be the last thing you see before he finds out.”