The Night Circus

After the illusionist takes her bow and disappears before her rapt audience’s eyes, they clap, applauding the empty air. They rise from their seats and some of them chatter with their companions, marveling over this trick or that as they file out the door that has reappeared in the side of the striped tent.
One man, sitting in the inner circle of chairs, remains in his seat as they leave. His eyes, almost hidden in the shadow cast by the brim of his bowler hat, are fixed on the space in the center of the circle that the illusionist occupied only moments before.
The rest of the audience departs.
The man continues to sit.
After a few minutes, the door fades into the wall of the tent, invisible once more.
The man’s gaze does not waver. He does not so much as glance at the vanishing door.
A moment later, Celia is sitting in a chair across the circle from him, still dressed as she had been during her performance, in a
black gown covered with delicate white lace.
“You usually sit in the back,” she says.
“I wanted a better view,” Marco says.

(The Night Circus, Erin Morgenstern)