The studio feels less like a workplace and more like a stage built for sacrifice. Lights glare down with surgical precision, bleaching the color from everything except Alastor. He stands unflinching beneath them, script balanced in his hands like scripture. Every movement is exact. Every breath measured.

The directors and camera operators orbit him, unaware they’re part of a ritual that repeats daily—attention offered, devotion given, fame renewed. The red “ON AIR” light pulses. From the far end of the corridor, something watches.

Vincent remains concealed behind the corner, body pressed close to the wall as if the building itself might betray him. One eye peers through the narrow gap, unblinking. The light from the studio slices across his face, catching the tight curl of his lip, the quiet tremor in his jaw.

This was supposed to be his world.

Television was louder. Bigger. Brighter. And yet the masses listened to the radio man instead. Fingers curl slowly at his side—not in rage, but restraint. The kind that comes before something deliberate. Final.

Alastor turns a page. The sound is soft. Controlled…

And then his eyes lift.

They cut through distance and shadow with unsettling precision, landing exactly where Vincent hides. The moment stretches—too long to be coincidence. Alastor does not acknowledge him. He continues reading. But the smile that creeps across his face is wrong. It is not meant for the audience, nor the cameras, nor the people who worship him from behind glass. It is thin. Private. Knowing. His gaze never leaves Vincent.

The script remains steady in his hands, but his attention sharpens, pressing outward like a blade. There is no fear in his eyes—only recognition. As if he’s known all along. As if he’s been waiting.

Vincent’s breath slows. Something inside him snaps, not loudly, not suddenly, but with terrifying certainty. The thought settles in, calm and irreversible. Success cannot be shared. Idols must fall for others to rise.

The lights burn hotter. The cameras keep rolling. And in the silence between them, murder stops being an idea—and becomes a plan.