# Neon Oath, Broken Halo

Author: Evan M. Blackwood
Site: ReadNovelHub
Canonical: https://readnovelhub.com/novel/neon-oath-broken-halo
Genre: Urban-WarHero-Tycoon

## World
Your heartbeat commands her, but every order makes her less human.

## Tropes
- Billionaire Romance
- Urban War Hero & Secret Billionaire
- Urban-WarHero-Tycoon

## FAQ
### What is Neon Oath, Broken Halo about?
Your heartbeat commands her, but every order makes her less human.

### Who is the author of Neon Oath, Broken Halo?
Neon Oath, Broken Halo is written by Evan M. Blackwood. Read Chapter 1 free on ReadNovelHub.

### Is Neon Oath, Broken Halo a Billionaire Romance story?
Yes. Neon Oath, Broken Halo is tagged for Billionaire Romance readers looking for North American romance-fantasy tropes.

### Can I read Neon Oath, Broken Halo Chapter 1 for free?
Yes. Chapter 1-5 Free. Chapter 6+ unlocked via Ads or a $0.00 trial. Start Neon Oath, Broken Halo on ReadNovelHub.

### What happens at the start of Neon Oath, Broken Halo?
The power dies at 11:47 PM, which means I'm not getting paid for the last hour. I'm alone in the grid above Stage B when every light in the building cuts out. The kind of dark that makes you stop breathing.

## Chapter 1 teaser
### Neon Oath, Broken Halo - Chapter 1: Girl in the Freight Elevator

The power dies at 11:47 PM, which means I'm not getting paid for the last hour. I'm alone in the grid above Stage B when every light in the building cuts out. The kind of dark that makes you stop breathing. My hand's still on the C-clamp I was tightening, and for three seconds I just stand there on the catwalk, waiting for the emergency system to kick in. It doesn't. The Paramount's been dying for two years. The owner keeps saying we'll make it through the season. I keep saying I need my paycheck on time. We're both liars. But if the main breaker's gone, that's not my problem. That's a call-the-electrician, shut-it-down-for-a-week problem. Which means no work. Which means no rent. I climb down in the dark. Muscle memory. I've done this grid a hundred times. The ladder rungs are worn smooth and they creak under my boots. When I hit the stage floor, I pull out my phone for the flashlight. That's when the stage lights come on. Not all of them. Just the practicals. The ones that aren't even on the same circuit as the main system. Little work lights we use for setup. They flicker on one by one, washing the stage in this cold white glow that makes my skin look gray. I don't believe in ghosts. I believe in short circuits and bad wiring and buildings that should've been condemned. But the practicals aren't wired to the breaker that just died. They shouldn't be on at all. "Okay," I say out loud, because the quiet's starting to press in. "Cool. Very normal." The freight elevator groans. It's backstage left, the old lift we use to move set pieces up from the basement. Nobody's used it in a month. The motor sounds like it's chewing gravel. I hear the cables whining, then the clunk of the car settling at stage level. I should leave. I should walk out the side door, go upstairs to my

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