answered because she already knew.

“A loaded gun.”

Her knees loosened.

One officer started to reach for her, then stopped.

Diala gripped the truck until the dizziness passed.

“I need to tell him how I saw it.”

Inside, the service corridor felt longer than ever.

She had walked it hundreds of times carrying linens, broken glasses, forgotten purses, and flowers that cost more than her rent.

Tonight it felt like a tunnel to judgment.

Chandler was waiting in a small security office behind the ballroom.

He had removed his suit jacket.

His tie was loosened.

Screens along the wall lit his face in cold strips, each one showing a different angle of the chaos outside.

Without investors around him, he looked less like a monument and more like a man who had just discovered how close death could stand.

Phoebe stood behind him with folded arms.

Diala stopped at the threshold.

Chandler spoke first.

“Are you hurt?”

The question broke through every apology she had prepared.

“No.

I don’t think so.”

“Your ankle.”

“I ran.”

“I saw.”

Phoebe said, “Everyone saw.”

Diala lowered her eyes, then forced them back up.

“Mr.

McFarland, I’m sorry for touching you.

I know I had no right.

I know what it looked like.”

“What was it?” Chandler asked.

“A warning.”

“Tell me.”

She pointed toward the ballroom.

“I was clearing table seven.

The chandelier reflected the east balcony.

The image was small, but it was clear because the center crystals had just been polished.

I saw a man standing there with a gun.

He was aiming where you were about to step.”

The security supervisor frowned.

“Table seven doesn’t have a direct view of the balcony.”

“That’s why nobody else saw him,” Diala said.

“Not directly.

The crystal flipped it.

I know that room.

I know where the reflections go.”

Phoebe stepped forward.

“Convenient.”

Diala looked at her.

“What is?”

“That the only person who saw this was the woman who got herself on every camera in the hall.”

The words hit where they were meant to.

Diala felt them, but she did not step back.

“I used the cameras because he needed witnesses around him,” she said.

“If I screamed, the music would swallow it.

If I ran to security, he would be on the stage before I reached anyone.

If I ran at the balcony, the shooter would see me first.”

Chandler’s face tightened.

“You thought of all that in two seconds?”

“No,” Diala said.

“I saw all of it in two seconds.

Thinking came after.”

On one monitor, a press clip replayed the kiss.

It showed Diala running, grabbing him, pressing her mouth to his.

It did not show the chandelier.

It did not show the balcony.

It made bravery look like scandal.

Phoebe pointed at the screen.

“That is what the public has.”

Chandler kept his eyes on Diala.

“What else do we have?”

The supervisor cleared his throat.

“Internal feeds.

The balcony camera went dark for twenty-one seconds before the weapon was found.

We assumed a fault.”

“You assumed,” Chandler said.

The man swallowed.

Chandler turned to the wall of screens.

“Find every wide shot.

Every roaming camera.

Every angle that includes that chandelier.”

It took four minutes.

Diala counted them by the pulse in her throat.

The first