Scarlet

wall, putting as much distance between her and Ran as she could. Ran and her grandmother.
    Her hand fell into the streak of light from the hallway. Her skin was sickly pale. She was trembling.
    Run.
    Lifting her head, she could see the start of a stairwell at the end of the hallway. Beside it, a painted sign long since faded. TO STAGE .
    Run.
    Her brain struggled to find the meaning of the words. TO STAGE . Stage. Stage.
    Her grandmother’s last words.
    Run!
    Reaching forward, she wrapped her fingers around the bars of the cell and used them as leverage. Straining to pull herself up. To stand. To push forward, into the hallway, into the light.
    Her legs felt nonexistent at first as she hobbled to the bottom of the stairs, but as she climbed, she found strength in them. She pushed forward. She ran.
    A closed door loomed at the top of the stairs, an old wooden door not even equipped with an ID scanner. It creaked when she shoved it open.
    Then footsteps below, coming for her.
    Scarlet emerged backstage. Old pillars stood clustered together to her right and a maze of fake stone walls and painted trees filled the shadows to her left. The door slammed behind her and she ran into the wooden forest, grabbing a wrought-iron candelabra.
    She lifted it in both hands and waited, feet braced.
    Ran burst through the door, chin covered in blood.
    Scarlet swung as hard as she could. A roar was wrenched out of her as the iron bar collided with Ran’s skull.
    He cried out and stumbled back into the curtain. He tripped on the fabric and fell backward.
    Scarlet thrust the candelabra at him, not sure she had the strength to heft it again. She heard fabric ripping, but she was already gone, dodging between the set pieces, scanning the creaking wooden floorboards as she lunged over coiled dusty power cords and toppled spotlights. She stumbled onto the stage, the empty expanse of wooden floorboards and trapdoors, and half jumped, half fell into the phantom orchestra. Ignoring a jolt of pain that burned across her knee, she shoved the music stands aside and bolted into the auditorium.
    Footsteps thumped across the stage behind her. Inhumanly fast.
    The rows of empty chairs flashed by and all she could see was the door looming ahead.
    He grabbed her hood.
    She let him pull her back, used the momentum to swing around and aim her knee for his groin.
    He let out a cry of pain and staggered.
    Scarlet darted through the crumbling marble arches, past the cherubs with their broken arms, past the shattered chandeliers and broken tile floors. She flew down the marble stairs, focusing on the huge doors that would lead to the street. If only she could get out of there. Into public. Into the real world.
    As she hit the lobby floor, the silhouette of another man moved across the exit.
    Her feet skidded to a stop, landing her in the square of pale sunlight from the hole in the ceiling.
    Pivoting, she ran for the other staircase, the stairs that went back down to the depths of the opera house.
    Above, a door slammed shut, and there were footsteps pounding and she couldn’t tell if it was one set of footsteps or two.
    Sweat coated the back of her shirt. Her legs ached, her burst of adrenaline fading.
    She rounded a corner and barreled into darkness. The main room had once been used for important guests of the opera house and a series of doors and hallways led to every corner of the sublevel. Scarlet knew the halls to the right would take her back to the prison cells, so she veered left. A drained fountain basin filled the space between the two stairways that led to the upper level. The bronze statue of a half-dressed maiden lingered in an alcove atop a pedestal, one of the few statues that seemed to have survived so many years of neglect.
    Scarlet ran for the opposite staircase, wondering if going back up to the lobby would be suicide—and yet knowing that to be trapped down here was no alternative.
    She reached the bottom of the stairs and her foot hit the low ledge of the fountain. She stumbled, crying out.
    Ran was on her before she hit the ground.
    Fingernails dug into her shoulder, flipping her onto her back amid the tiny broken tiles of the dry basin. She peered up into his glowing eyes, the eyes of a madman, of a murderer, and she remembered Wolf onstage at the street fight.
    Fear clamped her throat shut, strangling a scream.
    He gripped her shirt and lifted her from the ground. She grabbed his wrists, but was too petrified to fight as he brought