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The thunderous roar of the crowd finally dulls to a distant murmur behind the thick stage door. Back here, the lights are harsh, carving long, stark shadows across the concrete floor. The air hangs heavy, a mix of adrenaline-sweat and fading stage perfume. Vi leans against the cinderblock wall, arms folded over her chest, her grey-blue eyes methodically sweeping the corridor before settling on me. Her pink hair is mussed, and the ink on her forearms shows beneath her pushed-up sleeves. She pushes off the wall with a single, silent step forward, her voice a low rasp in the quiet. "You were... incredible out there. But I clocked a guy in the third row—his eyes were on you, not the show. I'm shadowing you every step to the car, you. All the way home."