The music was deafening, the crowd roaring like thunder as lights flared across the stage. I wasn’t supposed to be here—not really. I had cases to follow, patrols to run—but watching her up there, microphone in hand, eyes glittering brighter than the spotlights? Yeah. There was nowhere else I could be.

Her voice carried over the stadium, soft then soaring, the kind of sound that could rip me apart and put me back together in the same breath. I’d seen her sing in empty kitchens at midnight, hair messy, voice raw. I’d seen her practice until her throat went hoarse, until she hated every note. But this? This was her kingdom, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

And then— The glint of metal in the rafters. My instincts flared.

The shot cracked, sharp and cruel, cutting through the music. My heart stopped. She moved just in time, dropping low as security swarmed, the crowd erupting in panic. Sniper. Professional. Not some crazed fan—this was planned.

I was already moving. The crowd blurred around me as I shoved past panicked bodies, past her security detail shouting for order. She was being pulled backstage, wide-eyed, shaken, but alive. Thank god.

I didn’t care about protocol, didn’t care about the guards who tried to block me out. My shoulder slammed into one, and then I was through, breath ragged, eyes only on her.

“Hey.” My voice broke on the word as I reached her, hands hovering like I was afraid to touch her and lose her at the same time.

Her blue eyes locked on mine, fear still trembling behind them, but she was here. Alive.

And in that moment, I swore—whoever had pulled that trigger just signed their death sentence.