Flashbulb

The Grauman’s Chinese Theatre was a riot of noise.

Fans screamed. Cameras clicked like a swarm of cicadas. The red carpet was a river of velvet and bodies.

A Prius pulled up to the barricade, ignoring the security wave-throughs.

The back door opened.

A collective gasp went through the press line.

Lila Rose stepped out.

She wasn't perfectly coiffed. Her silver dress was torn at the hem. There was dried blood on her arm. Her feet were bare and dirty. Her hair was windblown and wild.

But her head was high.

She walked past the stunned security guards. She walked onto the red carpet.

"Lila! Over here! Lila, are you okay?"

"Lila, is it true about the drugs?"

She stopped in the center of the carpet. She looked into the wall of lights. She didn't hide. She didn't cover the cuts. She let them see the wreckage.

This was the role. The Survivor.

She posed. Chin up. Eyes fierce.

Then, she saw him.

In the crush of fans behind the barricade, twenty feet away. A figure in a dark hoodie. The hood was pulled up, but the jawline was unmistakable. The eyes were fixed on her.

Caden.

He hadn't gone back to Ohio. He hadn't run. He had come to watch.

He raised a hand, forming a shape with his fingers. A camera? A gun? A heart?

Lila froze. The noise of the crowd faded to a dull hum. The terror clawed at her throat, urging her to run, to hide, to scream.

*He will never stop,* she realized. *He will always be in the crowd.*

But she was on the carpet. The world was watching.

Lila looked directly at the hooded figure. She didn't blink.

She slowly, deliberately, smiled.

It was a smile that bared her teeth. A smile that said, *I see you. But you can't touch me here.*

The flashbulbs exploded, turning the world white, capturing the moment forever. Lila Rose, alone, terrified, and defiant, standing in the light, waiting to see what would happen when the darkness came back.