Angela's POV
The backstage dressing room was controlled chaos.
Debbie — assistant, black-framed glasses, relentlessly capable — had a clipboard and a timeline and was moving through both with the efficiency of someone who understood that the only way to manage a situation like this was to manage it before it became a situation.
"Stage confirmed. Line-up confirmed. Ava — you're third slot."
I nodded. Swallowed my second suppressant of the morning. The first was already wearing off.
Down again, I said to Silvia. She pressed against the suppressant like a wolf pressing against a closed door. Then she went still. Not acceptance. Just waiting for it to open again.
From across the room, I felt the familiar pressure of being watched.
I looked up. Adrienne. Standing at the far end of the ro
