He had been so preoccupied with trying to jar the box off the conveyer belt, he hadn’t noticed Riley beside him at first. When he’d finally spotted the shadow against the lid, for a moment, he’d thought it was Rico. Riley hadn’t glanced at him, staring somewhere beyond Jett’s field of vision. When he had looked down, his heart had stopped when he saw the gun clenched in her hand.

It didn’t take him long to realize why she would be brandishing a gun, and at who. His dark respect for her trickery was forgotten in a wave of fury and without thinking he shoved his arms through the slot between lid and box.

“I don’t think so, bitch,” he snarled as his fingers wound tight in her hair.

He yanked hard with all his strength. The side of Riley’s head slammed against the lid, and her scream lit up the shadowy box. She flailed, one hand scrambling against the box to try to fight off Jett’s grip. Jett held on even tighter, throwing himself backward against the wall of the box behind him when she tried to rip herself free. Her head bounced off the wood, her struggles waning for a moment.

Jett hadn’t missed the falter in her fighting and grinned wide. Some ruthless part of his mind thought if he were to die, then he was bringing the treacherous woman with him, one way or another. He allowed her to pull herself almost a foot away from the box before he mustered every part of his strength and heaved himself backward. Although he couldn’t hear it over the blaring music, he imagined a satisfying cracking noise as her head crashed into the lid of the box. Her temple caught the edge of the box with painful force, and she slumped, eyelids fluttering closed, sliding out of sight somewhere in front of the box.

His moment of hateful victory was short-lived with a sudden jarring as the box connecting with metal filled the air. Jett threw himself against the box, pressing against it as far from the blade as he could manage. The light spilling in from the straining lid was enough for him to watch as the blade tore through the thick plank with what sounded like a horrific hunger. For a moment, he wondered if maybe it would be better to throw himself directly into the path of the saw, ending his life quickly and as painlessly as possible before he had a chance to reach the flames.

The world spun around him, and he had only a moment to realize he was floating in the air for a split second before a terrible crash filled his ears, his body slamming into the wall of the box. A splintering sound came, and Jett blinked at shafts of light spilling in through wide cracks in the wood. In a rush, he realized he was no longer moving, and the sound of the bandsaw had become a deadly whirl through thin air, rather than the grinding as it sliced through the box.

After fighting to get his bearings, he realized the lid of the box had split almost completely in half. The realization that he was nearly free and safe shot new strength into his limbs and he kicked the lid savagely. The final, weak sound of the wood giving way to his blows was beautiful as the lid finally caved, folding in half. Jett leapt toward the opening, crawling out on the very welcome feel of the floorboards of the stage floor.

A cry of relief spilled from his lips as he looked down at the floor, understanding why older movies showed people kissing the ground reverently. Before he could commit to loving the ground tenderly, a pair of booted feet stepped into his vision. There was a moment of panic, wondering if someone had come to finish him off, before the figure squatted down. Rico’s face peered down at him with unfiltered worry.

Jett let out a shaky laugh as Rico reached out, gripping his shoulders firmly and easing him back. Jett sat back, sitting with his legs curled under him and looked up into Rico’s tender expression. His hands were still bound before him, blood staining his wrists and fingers as he fought to catch his breath. Jett reached out, resting his cuffed hands on Rico’s knee and almost cried with relief at the warmth radiating out onto his fingers.

The music eased back, dwindling until there was nothing but the soft overture Jett remembered picking to help with the audience’s nerves. Jett couldn’t think of a better tune to signify his freedom from his brush with death. It served as a reminder of the audience, who witnessed the entire ordeal, and Jett’s head jerked in their direction.

Thankfully, the lights on the stage had dimmed, with a spotlight shining on Mason, his double. Jett really did laugh then, out of relief, but mostly because the show had still gone on almost completely unhindered as he had fought for his life in the claustrophobic confines of the box.

“Jett, don’t move, you’re safe now,” Rico told him softly, running a tentative hand over Jett’s face.

Distantly, Jett realized Rico thought he was in shock. Truth be told, he probably was, after facing his death in the form of an oversized sawblade. Jett, however, smiled shakily up at Rico, slowly pushing himself to his feet. He held the handcuffs out to him, wanting them off.

Rico looked down, unsure for a moment before pulling his steadying hand from Jett. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of small keys, which he slipped into the cuffs. The moment they were free, Jett shook them off, a final breath of relief spilling from his lips as they clattered to the floor. Jett pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping at the blood on his fingers as quickly as possible, listening to the beat of the music.

“What are you—you’re going to finish the show?” Rico began in confusion and ended with incredulity.

Jett laughed, the sound a little high and shrill. “The show must go on.”

“Jett, you need to lie down and get some rest,” Rico insisted.

The concern and fear in Rico’s voice soothed a few of the jagged edges of Jett’s nerves as he waited patiently. He knew Rico was telling the truth, and from the shakiness he could feel in his knees, he knew he wasn’t going to be standing much longer.

“Let me be stubborn for a moment longer,” Jett whispered, pleading with his eyes.

Jett didn’t have the time to explain to Rico what it meant to him to finish the show. First Oliver’s murder had threatened Jett’s reputation and by proxy, his show. When that hadn’t been enough, Riley had decided to get rid of Jett all together, turning his fake deathtrap into a real one. She had done everything she could to try to remove Jett from the picture, risking everything Jett had worked for. If he allowed himself to be taken off the stage to be treated for his injuries, it would feel like backing down and letting her have some semblance of victory.

The thought of Riley brought him around, looking to the belt where he had last seen her. As he watched, the conveyer belt stopped, the blade’s deadly spinning coming to a lazy halt. Someone backstage must have cut the power. Riley was still unconscious, on the floor. Someone, probably Rico, had yanked her off the belt and left her in a heap to deal with later. A savage displeasure shot through him, but Jett shoved it aside. If anything, with her alive, she would have to spill everything she had done, completely freeing him from blame and ending up locked away where she belonged.

Then the lights on the stage shifted, brightening overhead as the ones at the back of the house dimmed. As one, the audience swiveled its attention to where Jett stood. For a moment, he froze, his features locked in an expression of dull panic as he forgot what he was supposed to do. He glanced down at the shattered remains of the box beside him, and then over at Rico who was suddenly looking distinctly green.

Jett knew stage fright when he saw it, and the thought of the methodical and capable detective suffering from it brought a real laugh from Jett’s mouth. He gestured to Rico, and then shrugged as if to ask them ‘what can you do?’ It earned slight chuckle from a portion of the audience, which picked up and began to ripple across the audience. It grew and became actual laughter and people began to cheer, signaling Jett to finally take his bow. Sure, the performance had been far less mysterious and more frantic than the members of the audience had been led to believe, but they had gotten their show all the same.

A hum in his ear told him his mic had turned back on and he called out to them. “And there you have it, folks. I defied death and stand before you, alive and kicking! Thank you so much for coming out, be sure to tell everyone, or hey, bring yourselves back in. I don’t mind seeing the same smiling faces.”

The stage lights dimmed and Jett wobbled on his feet. The adrenaline and demands of his brush with death were finally catching up, and he felt his head spin.

“Jett?” Rico asked, reaching out to clutch onto his elbow.

“I think I need that nap now,” Jett murmured as the edges of his vision darkened, closing in rapidly as he felt himself tip backward into Rico’s warm embrace.