ANNABETH SAINT
I heard the crack first. I looked up at the ceiling and saw one of the huge chandeliers break free and shoot downward. I saw Fiona, screaming as her arms windmilled. Someone ... someone had shoved her forward. The chandelier--
I felt someone yank me backwards and spin me around, cradling my head so that my face rested against his dinner jacket.
I gasped, my heart hammering against my ribs. His arm locked around my waist, pulling me tighter against him. His breath was warm against my ear.
"You're safe," he whispered. Then he scooped me into his arms and walked away. I huddled against him, trembling as the image of Fiona helplessly being tossed under the falling chandelier.
Chaos erupted inside the ballroom—shouts, panicked footsteps, the wail of security alarms. He didn't let go of me. Instead, his grip tightened, and before I could protest, he entered a concealed door hidden behind a velvet curtain.
