Below the rafters, the show was going on in full blast. Spotlights danced around and pointed at Nel, who was singing his heart out and making wild things with his guitar. There were even background dancers dressed in full-body catsuits with abstract shapes printed on them, moving in dream-like waves.
Tristan wished he was watching all this instead of standing here, about to face off with the bomber.
The man with the explosive was standing only seven meters away from Tristan. The light from the stage below lit him enough that Tristan could make him out without switching to heat vision.
The bomber was tall and broad, with muscular shoulders and a beer gut. On his shoulder he was carrying a large cardboard box with the explosive inside. A badge was hanging from his neck—even without looking closer, Tristan guessed it was the same badge all the concert hall workers wore.
