The air in the soundstage, still and silent moments before, now felt thick enough to choke on. Julian Thorne’s words hung between them, a venomous confession. It was just the decoy.

Lena’s mind raced, a frantic inventory of every set, every prop, every private conversation held in what they had believed was a secure space. The violation was absolute. Thorne watched her, a predator savoring the freeze of its prey.

“Security!” Lena’s voice cut through ...