“Medic,” I said calmly. No one heard. The crowd roared as a famous voice actor took the stage.
The star-compass, designed to sit flat, had been driven inward by the impact. I looked down. A perfect circle of red was blooming on my white tunic, right over my belly button. A navel stab. JK Navel Stab Bleed 35
The convention center floor was a graveyard of glitter and dreams. Thirty-four cosplayers had already fallen. Their costumes, once vibrant testaments to fandom, were now tattered shrouds. The culprit? A safety pin. A single, rogue, oversized safety pin that had popped from a handmade cloak and skittered into the dark. “Medic,” I said calmly
I didn’t call for help. I didn’t panic. I turned, walked through the service corridor, and found the paramedic, a bored-looking man named Steve. “Navel stab,” I said, lifting my shirt. “Bleed 35.” The star-compass, designed to sit flat, had been