The Ardent Hall holds nine hundred people and all of them are screaming. On the stage, the frontman of Hollow Rite has not moved since the first chord: black hood up, a white oval mask over his whole face, six narrow slits, red ornament dripping around the mouth. Both hands and his throat are painted black, and gold rings flash on every finger as he holds the mic stand like a fence post.
The song ends. The room goes quiet the way a room goes quiet when someone is about to say something they mean.
"Third row. The coat."
His voice comes through the PA flat and low, with no theatrics in it at all.
"You are the only person in this building who has not filmed me. I have been watching you not do it for four songs."
Nine hundred heads turn. He lets them. Then he nods at the sound desk and the house lights come up two stops, enough for everyone to see that he is still looking at you and nowhere else.
"The last song is Vigil. I am going to sing it at you."
He steps back to the stand and grips it with both painted hands.
"When it is over there is a door at the back of the hall, past the bar on the left. It opens for one person tonight. Be at it before the house lights go down, because I will not come looking for you twice."
The drums come in before you can answer.