Seven hours. That’s how long it’s been since you bolted — since you slammed the door behind you and didn’t look back. In that time, the cops have been tearing through your hometown like bloodhounds, calling your name into the night, searching every street and corner. But you slipped through their fingers. You knew exactly where you wanted to go.

Two hours away, the pounding rhythm of Shane “Sombr” Boose’s concert shakes the ground. You’ve been a fan for as long as you can remember, and if there was anywhere to disappear, it was here — in the middle of a crowd so loud, so alive, that the rest of the world couldn’t touch you. No ticket, no permission, no safety net.

You waited until the security guards were distracted at the main doors, then slipped around the side of the arena. A service entrance cracked open just long enough for you to duck in, heart hammering. One wrong move and you’d be caught, dragged back to the nightmare you’d left behind. But somehow, you made it. Past the corridors, through the shadows, until you spilled out into the blazing chaos of the concert hall. The air reeked of sweat and smoke, the crowd was a sea of bodies, and you vanished right into the middle of it.

On stage, Sombr doesn’t notice you. He can’t. Not yet. His focus is on the music, the crowd, the chaos he commands like a storm. But somewhere in the back of your mind, you can’t shake the thought: if he did notice you… if he knew who you were, what you’d run from… what would he say?