I didn’t respond, just turned my attention back to her. The flames had reached her silks, climbing upward like hungry tongues. She didn’t flinch. The fire wrapped around her body, outlining her shape in molten gold. She spun and dropped; the silks unfurling as she moved, a living flame dancing above our heads.

Even though the fire licked her bare arms and shoulders, she didn’t cry out. It was as if she were fire—untouchable, eternal. But I could see it now: the strain beneath her poise. Sweat glistened down her temples, her breathing coming quicker. And then, the makeup she’d used to hide her burns and bruises began to melt away under the heat.

At first, it was barely noticeable—just streaks of pale foundation running down her neck. But then the handprints appeared, dark and angry against her glowing skin. The crowd’s murmur changed, confusion rippling through them. The firelight made the marks impossible to mistake now—they looked less like passion and more like punishment.

Before anyone could say a word, the tent’s entrance slammed open.

“Nix!” the ringmaster bellowed. “Get the hell down here!”

At the sound of his voice, she stopped mid-spin and descended, wrapping herself in the silks before dropping gracefully to the ground. “Is something wrong, Fath—?”

He cut her off by seizing her arm. “Don’t ‘Father’ me.” His voice was a hiss between clenched teeth. “Come. Now.”

He dragged her toward the exit so roughly that the silk slipped from her hands. Blaze and I exchanged a look—then followed.

Outside, the circus was quiet. The smell of smoke and greasepaint hung heavy in the chilly night air. The ringmaster pulled her to a secluded spot behind the tent, far from the lights. Their voices dropped low, harsh whispers carried by the wind. Then came the sharp, unmistakable crack of a slap.

She didn’t scream—just the soft sound of her body hitting the ground.

Even from a distance, I could hear her whispering, “I’m sorry, Father. I’m sorry.”

Over and over again. Small. Hollow. Defeated.

The ringmaster leaned down, said something in her ear that made her go utterly still, and then he walked away, his boots crunching through the dirt.

Blaze took a step toward her, but a hand clamped down on his shoulder, stopping him.

Rin.

“Don’t,” Rin warned quietly. Then he brushed past us, his voice softening as he approached her.

“Hey, Nix.”

Instantly, she straightened, her tone light but trembling slightly. “Rin. What brings you over here?”

“Star wanted me to tell you her offer still stands.”

“Look,” she said, forcing calm into her voice, “even if I wanted to, I can’t.”

Rin sat beside her, the firelight flickering over both of them. “Is it because of Hearth?”

She flinched so hard I almost didn’t notice the way her hands clenched in her lap. “How do you know about that?”

Rin’s tone was gentle, almost sad. “It’s not hard to figure out. Before he came, you were the ringmaster’s biggest nightmare. You used to do everything you could to ruin him. I remember the time you untied the main tent’s ropes and dropped the whole thing right on top of an audience.”

She gasped—then laughed softly, covering her mouth with one trembling hand. “You were there for that? Gods… I didn’t think anyone was left from those times.”

Her laughter faded as quickly as it had come, replaced by silence.

“You’re right,” Rin said quietly. “Not a lot of people are left.”

Another long pause.

“So,” he asked, almost teasingly, “you got a crush on Hearth or something?”

A sound of disgust slipped from her lips. “Gods, no. Hearth is my brother.”

“Your brother?” Rin echoed, eyebrows lifting. “How do you even know that?”

“I felt the connection between us the first time I held him,” she said softly. “It was right around the time the ringmaster was considering discarding me altogether. By then, I’d already been through isolation four times—four stretches of nothing but silence, darkness, and my own thoughts. He said I scared the customers. That I was too much fire and not enough beauty. Too wild to be worth the trouble.”

“He had me dragged in one night,” she continued, voice quieter now. “And there he was—sitting in that cracked leather chair with a baby in his arms. When he told me the baby was my brother, I didn’t believe him. I thought it was just another one of his twisted games. But when he shoved the child into my arms, everything changed.”

She smiled faintly, remembering. “He was so small… his skin warm, his breath soft against my neck. I felt it immediately—the bond. Like a spark that found its match. I named him Hearth because even then, I could feel the heat in him, the heart. He made me feel like I wasn’t alone in that horrible place anymore.”

Her voice faltered, and I realized she was no longer talking to Rin. She was remembering something deeper, something that cut straight through her fire-hardened composure.

“That’s when the ringmaster knew he had me,” she whispered. “He said every time I refused to do what he asked, he’d do it to Hearth instead. So I obeyed. I became his favorite toy. And one day… I gave up being able to see at all.”

She fell silent after that, her sightless green eyes glimmering faintly in the firelight, the embers painting shadows across her delicate features. Rin studied her for a long moment, his expression softening before he pushed himself to his feet, brushing dirt from his pants.

“I’ll get Blaze and Phyx so you guys can continue to practice,” he said quietly, though it sounded more like an excuse than an offer.

She shook her head immediately, her dark hair shifting over her bare shoulders. “Can’t. I need to reapply my makeup. The ringmaster will be upset if anyone else sees me like this.”

******

I sat before the cracked mirror propped on the vanity table inside my tent, the smell of greasepaint and smoke clinging to the fabric walls. The dim glow of the lanterns flickered behind me, the shadows trembling in rhythm with the soft hum of the circus outside—the call of the tigers, the crackle of torches, the murmur of performers winding down for the night.

With slow, practiced hands, I began to apply the makeup, my fingers mapping each bruise and welt by touch alone. I brushed powder over the spots where the pain pulsed beneath my skin, covering what I could not allow anyone to see. My fingertips knew the exact distance between my jaw and the corner of my eye, the curve of my cheek, the ridges that pain always seemed to find.

I had learned to do this in front of the ringmaster himself, his voice always behind me, cold and sharp. Each time I made a mistake—too much blush, uneven eyeliner—I paid for it. But over time, I became perfect. My blindness no longer slowed me. I could craft a flawless mask with just the sweep of my hands.

As I worked, his last words to me returned, each one burning through my chest like hot oil. It would be easy to replace you with Miracle.

Miracle. The ringmaster’s precious genie. His favorite indulgence for the wealthy who came seeking something extraordinary. She was the woman he displayed when he wanted to show off his power—someone he could command without ever breaking. I’d heard others describe her: flawless, with skin the color of warm caramel and eyes like dark chocolate. Her laughter was said to make men dizzy. Her body, all curves and temptation, was dressed in silks so thin they might as well have been smoke.

Unlike the rest of us, she had never felt the ringmaster’s cruelty. He kept her wrapped in gold and perfume, untouchable except when a client paid enough to use her wishes. She loved it here, or at least she claimed to. Maybe ignorance was a kind of mercy.

I didn’t hate Miracle, but her joy scraped against my nerves like glass. The way she smiled, as if this circus were a paradise and not a cage. Still, I couldn’t be the one to take that from her—not when Hearth adored her so much. My little brother’s laughter whenever she visited him was one of the few bright things left in my world.

When the last streak of makeup was in place, I rose and ran my fingers down the costume hanging by the mirror. The fabric shimmered faintly beneath my touch—thin silk, edged in fireproof thread, with the familiar scent of smoke and ash clinging to it. I slipped into it carefully, the cool material sliding over my heated skin like water.

The ringmaster still expected me to perform tonight. A new act might be in the works, but until then, my old performance was his favorite spectacle—his proof that even a blind woman could be broken into beauty.