As I stepped back into the big tent, the familiar assault of scents hit me first—sawdust thick in the air, mingling with the musk of sweat, oil, and smoke from torches. Beneath it all lingered the faint sweetness of cotton candy, and the acrid bite of animal cages freshly cleaned. Every scent painted a picture in my mind, more vivid than sight ever could.

Then came the sounds—footsteps shuffling over dirt, murmurs from the crowd beyond the curtain, the squeak of pulleys as aerial rigs were adjusted, the crackle of torches being lit. It was chaos, but to me, every sound had its place. I could tell who was moving where, who was nervous, who was bored. When I first performed here, all those sounds had crashed over me like a wave. I’d tried to focus, but the noise had filled my head until I lost balance. I still remember that fall—the rush of air, the sickening crack as my arm hit the ground. The scar it left behind was the only one the ringmaster didn’t give me.

Now, I sat quietly in the shadows, hidden from the audience, waiting for my cue. The ringmaster’s booming voice carried across the tent, smooth and commanding. He called the shifters first—creatures who could become beasts at will. From what I’d overheard during practice, half of them shifted while the others played their handlers, cracking whips and shouting commands as if they weren’t the same souls beneath the skin. The act always drew gasps, though I found the performance more tragic than thrilling.

Normally, the Phoenix twins would follow, setting the ring ablaze with their flames as the shifters performed around them. But tonight, the ringmaster was saving them—probably to pair our acts later for dramatic effect. Instead, he summoned the sirens and the mermaid.

Star didn’t sing tonight; she was either still in hiding or locked in isolation again. Only Rin’s voice filled the tent, his siren song weaving through the air like silk. His melody shimmered, rising and falling in perfect rhythm with the distant splashes of the mermaids dancing in their tank. The crowd was utterly still, caught in his spell.

Rin’s voice wasn’t just beautiful—it was dangerous. Every note slid against the air like silk, sweet and slow, wrapping around each heartbeat in the crowd until no one dared to move. I could almost taste the salt his song carried, the echo of the ocean that lived in his voice.

Mmm… come closer, hearts of flame,

The water’s whisper calls your name.

The words weren’t just sung; they were breathed into existence. His tone dipped low enough to tremble in my stomach, and I swore I could feel the audience leaning forward, their breath syncing to his rhythm.

Behind him, I heard the soft splash of tails breaking water. The mermaids had joined him, their voices rising like the glint of light over the tide—higher, thinner, threaded through his melody. The air felt wet with their sound.

Silver tears and stolen breath,

Lovers drown in velvet death.

Rin’s voice arched higher, and for a moment, I could picture him the way others described: bare chest glistening under the lights, wet strands of dark hair clinging to his skin, eyes half-lidded as if the song itself was pleasure.

I couldn’t see any of that, but I could feel it—the ache of desire he poured into every note, the way he sang like he was baring his soul and begging someone to touch it.

Touch the tide, don’t fight the sea…

What you fear will set you free.

His melody wrapped around me so tightly that I forgot to breathe. Even the ringmaster didn’t dare interrupt a siren mid-song. The mermaids’ tails slapped in rhythm, droplets pattering like rain as they twirled in the water. I could hear the drag of their bodies through it, the slide of scales.

Come to me… come to me…

Let the silence pull you deep.

The harmonies made the air shimmer. I could feel it brushing over my skin like invisible hands, coaxing me to sway with them. The song grew darker, more intimate.

The chains you wear, I wear them too…

My song’s the only truth I knew.

The ache in his voice made something in my chest tighten. I knew that kind of loneliness. The kind that digs into your bones until even your voice carries it. Maybe that’s why I liked Rin, even if he didn’t know it. We both belonged to the ringmaster’s cage—me to the silks, him to the water.

So hush, sweet dreamers, drift below…

The sea remembers all you know.

His last words faded like a tide drawing back to sea. The silence afterward was heavy, sacred.

I could hear the audience holding their breath, caught somewhere between awe and desire.

Then—applause. Loud and thunderous. The sound washed through the tent like another wave, breaking the spell.

Rin didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His song still lingered in the air, soft and shimmering, long after the clapping stopped.

When the song ended, the audience exhaled as one, erupting into applause. Four more acts passed, including the Phoenix twins. Their flames roared bright, painting the tent in gold and crimson light, but the crowd’s cheers were polite, restrained. The ringmaster was right—their act was losing its fire.

As they performed, I climbed to my platform high above the ring, feeling the vibrations of each footstep below fade into stillness. My silks brushed against my fingers—smooth, familiar, alive. I wrapped myself in them, feeling their cool weight settle over my skin, and waited in silence for the ringmaster to call my name.

The moment the ringmaster called my name, the world around me fell into silence. Every sound—the chatter of the crowd, the shuffle of performers behind the curtain, the crackle of the torches—melted into the background hum of my heartbeat. My body knew what to do before I even gave it permission.

I stepped barefoot onto the silken mat, the cool fabric of my costume brushing over my skin like a whisper. The air inside the tent was thick with heat and sawdust, and every breath I took felt alive, humming with expectation. I could feel the audience’s eyes on me, their attention sharp and hungry. But I didn’t need their sight—I had my own kind of vision. I could feel every inch of this place: the draft from the tent flaps, the hum of excitement rippling through the crowd, the faint vibration of the platform beneath my feet.

I reached for the silks. The smooth fabric slid over my fingers, cool and promising. I let them coil around my wrists, then lifted one foot and pushed off into the air. My muscles stretched, familiar tension building in my arms as I began my ascent. The silks hissed softly against my skin, winding up my body in spirals of pressure and release. Each twist of fabric was a touch—firm, guiding, intimate.

The higher I climbed, the quieter the tent became. I could sense the hush below me, the kind that feels like a held breath. Then I let go.

The fall wasn’t real, not truly, but it always felt like it. My stomach dipped, air rushing past my ears as gravity tugged at me. I let the silks catch me, their grip sliding against my thighs and waist before tightening at the last possible second. The audience gasped—soft, sharp, perfect.

I twisted midair, my body arcing into motion. I couldn’t see the lights or the colors painted across the fabric, but I could feel them—the warmth of the lanterns against my skin, the subtle shimmer of heat above the crowd. I moved through the air as if I were part of it, every motion deliberate, sensual. The silks pressed against me like a lover’s hands, wrapping and unwrapping in time with the rise and fall of my breath.

Every movement was a conversation between body and fabric. I let my weight fall backward, feeling the pull in my stomach as I hung suspended upside down. My hair brushed the air, loose strands tickling my face as I spun slowly, the world tipping and turning in a rhythm that only I could feel. My legs flexed, wrapping the silk higher until it hugged the inside of my thighs, my hips, my ribs. It was a dance built on trust—trust that the silks would hold, that my instincts would never fail me.

A sigh rippled through the crowd. I couldn’t see their faces, but I could hear the sound of them leaning closer, the shift of hundreds of bodies drawn in at once. They weren’t just watching me—they were feeling me.

I rolled my body through the air, letting the silks unravel slowly from my torso. Each glide downward was a brush of sensation, the fabric sliding against every inch of skin it passed. It was like shedding a layer of fear. Every movement, every twist, every suspended moment between the pull of gravity and the hold of silk was both punishment and freedom.