A hundred eyes tried to follow the dance.
Her movements were deliberately calculated: to draw attention, to distract, to create the illusion that everything was under control,that this dance was merely a beautiful improvisation during the break between speeches.
People around them involuntarily stopped.
Someone froze with a glass at their lips; someone turned, forgetting their conversation.
Cameras, like insect eyes, slowly swiveled, capturing every turn, every glance, every light touch.
The red recording lights burned steadily, unblinking.
Roy stood below the stage, motionless, like a statue carved from dark marble.
Only his eyes betrayed him,they remained fixed on the pair, cold, merciless calculation working deep within the pupils.
He knew any mistake now would cost not just reputation, but everything they had built over decades.
Elizabeth stood slightly apart, focused. Her eyes were half-closed, lashes trembling as though she were trying to peer through thick fog.
She pressed with her mind,insistently, like a needle sliding under skin. But every time she hit an invisible wall.
The wisteria held firm. Ethan remained impenetrable.
"He's like… a barrier," she muttered, barely moving her lips, flicking her gaze toward Roy in search of any hint.
"I can't even break through…"
Roy didn't answer.
Only the corner of his mouth twitched faintly.
Laurent, meanwhile, moved toward the second-floor balcony.
His steps were precise,no wasted motion. He stopped at the railing, leaned his elbows on it, and slowly swept his gaze across the hall, the ceiling, the ventilation grilles.
He tried to sense something,as though intuition screamed that something was wrong,but everything appeared too perfect.
His fingers tapped lightly against the metal,the only sign he was searching for the source of interference. He was ready to intervene at any moment.
Backstage in the technical zone, amid cables and flickering racks, Flash hunched over the auxiliary terminal.
His fingers flew across the keys,quick, almost lazily,as though he were merely checking audio levels rather than cracking every file.
Lines of code scrolled upward on the screen; the upload indicator crept steadily toward the edge.
"Gideon, signal stable," he whispered into the concealed microphone, voice barely audible beneath the hum of fans.
"It's not just feeding the hall," Gideon replied from afar, calm and emotionless.
"The federals already know someone's on their frequencies…"
Flash gave a short nod to himself.
"Window open."
Bruno, meanwhile, moved through the service corridor,tray in hand, gait even, eyes downcast.
He didn't slow.
Only his fingers tightened slightly beneath the tray when he saw the guards beginning to re-check everyone inside.
He reached the end of the corridor, turned the corner, and quietly secured the emergency exit with a simple but reliable mechanism that would buy them an extra thirty seconds if they had to move fast.
Bullet slipped along the ventilation duct.
Her movements were silent, like a cat on the hunt.
She reached the auxiliary panel, pulled out a short wire with a clip, and,with one precise motion,short-circuited the circuit using her tiny paws.
The lights in the hall flickered for an instant—as though someone had yanked the plug and immediately shoved it back in.
The crowd flinched.
Someone gasped; someone laughed nervously. The music stuttered but didn't stop.
And the main screen behind Gérard went completely dark.
A solid black field—cold, without a single reflection.
A moment later, text appeared on it.
"You wanted stability?"
Then an anonymous voice—distorted, as though rising from the bottom of a well—spoke:
"See what it costs."
The hall froze.
Applause, conversations, the clink of glasses,all cut off at once.
The spotlights on Anna and Ethan grew brighter, sharper, more dramatic,as though they had deliberately been singled out from the crowd.
Cameras snapped toward them instantly, capturing every gesture, every glance, every movement of the lips.
Anna continued to dance,slowly, gracefully,but now new emotion entered her movements.
She spun Ethan, holding his hand, and smiled.
Ethan didn't resist.
He let her lead,step by step, turn by turn.
Backstage, Roy spun sharply toward the nearest monitor. His face remained calm, but his fingers clenched into a fist.
"This isn't a glitch," he said quietly.
Corvin was already moving toward the technical door.
"Launch the backup channel.
Now!"
Elizabeth stood motionless, staring at the screen. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"They're inside," she whispered.
Laurent slowly lifted his gaze to the ceiling,toward the hidden ventilation grilles.
"And not just inside."
Gérard stood alone on stage beneath the single remaining spotlight. His face remained calm, but something new flickered in his eyes,more curiosity than anything else.
How had this happened? How had they been played so completely without noticing?
He slowly raised his hand.
"Continue the broadcast," he said,his voice carrying clearly through the entire hall.
The screen flickered.
The black background was replaced by footage: archival clips, documents, surveillance recordings, faces, names, dates.
Everything they had hidden for decades.
The voice from the speakers,the same distorted one, now louder:
"This is the end of your experiments. Look at all of this!
You've been deceived for years!"
The hall erupted,shouts, whispers; someone leapt to their feet; someone grabbed for a phone.