Her words echoed through my head as I lay stretched out along the rafters of the big top. The first night of the circus loomed closer, and below me, I could hear the others rehearsing—the creak of ropes, the muffled slap of feet hitting sawdust, the hiss of the fire-breathers warming up. Each sound painted its own shape in my mind, a living map of the chaos beneath the canvas.

The ringmaster was busy overseeing the final preparations, so I only had to run through my routine twice before I slipped up here to rest. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but the quiet made it worth the risk. I’d found this place on a night when I’d nearly given up—when I’d climbed to the very top and thought about jumping. The only reason I didn’t was because if I did, the ringmaster would win. So instead of falling, I made this my hiding place, a secret refuge where the air was thin, cold, and far from his reach.

No one ever looked for me here. Why would they? I was blind, after all. Everyone assumed I wouldn’t dare to climb this high. Their ignorance kept me safe.

The circus below hummed like a restless heartbeat. The scent of oil paint, sawdust, and burnt sugar tangled together, sweet and acrid. Beneath it all lingered the faint, metallic sting of old blood that no amount of soap or rain could ever scrub away. I listened to it all—the low voices, the distant murmurs, the muted laughter that sounded too forced to be real.

If it weren’t for the show night, I could have stayed up here for hours. But no matter how busy the ringmaster was, he would never let me go long without checking in. He always had to remind me who I belonged to.

That’s why I kept my silks tied off to the beam beside me. When he inevitably called my name, I’d wrap myself in the fabric and make my descent look like part of the act. The illusion was all he ever wanted from me, anyway.

For now, though, my mind refused to rest. I kept replaying everything from yesterday—the meeting with Star, the way her voice softened when she offered me a place among them, her belief that the others only hated the version of me the ringmaster had created. She didn’t know the truth. She didn’t know that before her rebellion, there had been mine.

I had fought once, too. I’d refused to perform the way he demanded, refused to let him break me. It earned me isolation—weeks in the dark, cold, and silence, until I wished for the sound of my own screams again. I was ten years old when he finally made me stop fighting. Whatever he did to me that day ensured I never truly rebelled again.

The scars from that time still burned faintly beneath my skin, reminders of what defiance cost. Thinking about them brought my focus to the newer burns—his handprints, still healing but hidden under layers of makeup.

As if my thoughts had summoned him, I heard his voice ring out across the tent.

“Nix!”

My breath caught, but my body moved automatically. I slipped my silks around the beam and began to wrap myself in them, the smooth fabric whispering against my skin. Then I leapt. The air rushed past me in a roar that filled my ears, my body dropping until the silks caught, unfurling in a long, fluid spiral. I twisted and twirled down through the air, every movement graceful, controlled, deliberate. When my feet finally touched the ground, I landed in perfect silence.

I straightened, waiting for his approval.

“Good job, Nix,” the ringmaster said, his voice oily with satisfaction. “You’ll be the star of the show, as always.”

I bowed my head. “Thank you, Father.”

His hand clamped down on my shoulder—tight enough to bruise—and he leaned close, his breath brushing my ear. “You left without permission last night. Now Star is missing. You wouldn’t be going back on your word, would you?”

My body went rigid, every muscle tightening beneath his grip. “Of course not, Father,” I said carefully. “You have my word.”

He released me, though I could still feel the weight of his suspicion hanging in the air.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Father?” I asked, desperate to shift his focus.

“Actually,” he said, tone turning falsely casual, “there is. Walk with me.”

I followed, keeping half a step behind him, my heart thudding hard against my ribs. I didn’t trust his sudden change in tone—it always meant he wanted something.

“Nix,” he began smoothly, “I’ve been thinking. Since you’re fire-resistant, you’ll join the Phoenix twins for a new act. The three of you together—fire, flight, and fearlessness. It’ll be magnificent.”

I faltered. “The Phoenix twins don’t like me, Father.”

“I’m sure the three of you can work something out,” he said dismissively.

Before I could argue, the heat hit me—a rolling wave that wrapped around my body like a living thing. We’d stepped into the twins’ habitat. Their air always smelled of burnt cedar and smoke, warm enough to sting my lungs and make the makeup on my skin itch.

The sound of their boots scraping the ground came first, then one of them spoke, voice edged in flame.

“Ringmaster. What brings you to our den?”

“I’ve decided to add to your act,” the ringmaster replied. “Nix will be joining you.”

The silence that followed lasted only a heartbeat before it broke into twin shouts of protest.

“What?!”

“You can’t be serious—”

The ringmaster’s snarl cut through them. “You’ll work with her, or I’ll send both of you to isolation. Your act is stale and predictable. The audience is bored.”

The word isolation hit the air like a whip crack. Neither of them said another word.

Once the ringmaster’s footsteps faded, one of them finally spoke again, his tone dripping venom.

“Did you find a man to fuck after you talked to Star, slut?”

My jaw tightened, but I forced my voice to stay calm. “You don’t have to like me. But unless you want to face isolation again, we need to make this work.”

They grumbled, muttering curses under their breath.

“Fine,” one said at last. “What’s the plan, then?”

I hesitated, unsure if I should trust either of them enough to start brainstorming ideas. “Let’s sit down and discuss it first,” I said instead.

I extended a hand in their direction. I could sense where they stood by the heat they gave off—like living embers—but I needed one of them to lead me. I didn’t know this place well enough to move without help, and I wasn’t about to stumble blindly through their domain.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, with an irritated sigh, one of the twins stepped forward and took my hand. His palm was calloused and hot against mine—uncomfortably so, though I refused to flinch..

He led me toward a low bench—or at least I assumed it was, by the sound of the wooden creak as he sat. The scent of scorched leather and smoke thickened around us, and the air pulsed with heat and unspoken hostility.

I was used to this hostility, so I ignored it, keeping my tone even. “We need to find something that will show all of our talents. I’ve been told the only thing you two ever do is juggle things on fire.”

I heard a snort somewhere to my right—low, rough, and full of arrogance. “We can do better than that,” one twin muttered. “Neither of us wants to, though.”

“Yeah,” the other added, his voice deeper, sharper. “Why should we want to do anything for that asshole?”

“How about so you don’t end up in isolation again?” I countered quietly.

That shut them up for a beat. Then one asked, with a mocking edge, “And what about you? Is there anything you can do besides your silks?”

I smiled faintly, though they couldn’t see it from where they stood. “Actually, I was thinking my silks could be on fire while I twirl through them. You two could perform a fire routine beneath me. I’ll stay up as long as I can, and when the silks finally burn through, you’ll catch me.”

A long silence followed before one of them muttered, “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” I said softly. “But people love to watch insanity burn.”

******

Blaze and I stood shoulder to shoulder, staring up at Nix as she soared through the air, wrapped in ribbons of flame. For someone blind, she moved as if she could see every thread of silk, every lick of fire. She wasn’t just performing—she was dancing with death.

When she’d first suggested the act, neither of us argued. She’d been here longer, and honestly, neither of us cared enough to fight it. Still, watching her now was something else entirely.

Despite being the ringmaster’s little puppet, Nix was beautiful. Gorgeous, even. Her long black hair was tied high, reflecting sweat and sparks. Her dark green eyes—still strikingly clear despite her blindness—looked straight ahead, unseeing yet somehow focused. Her skin glowed bronze in the firelight, slick with sweat that traced every curve of her body. She was all muscle and grace, every motion deliberate. For someone so broken, she performed as if she were free.

Blaze whistled under his breath. “Should we actually catch her?”

I shot him a look. “That’s too far, Blaze.”

He smirked. “It was just a joke, Phyx.”