My throat tightened. “And if I fail?”

“Then, your brother will take your place.” He didn’t even hesitate. “My friend doesn’t care if the demon he breaks is male or female.”

It was a death sentence either way. But I had no choice. I bowed my head. “Alright, ringmaster. You have a deal.”

******

My brother and I watched Nix perform the same routine for what had to be the tenth time since dawn. The massive tent around her was silent except for the whisper of the ropes and the creak of the trapeze. Lantern light filtered through the red-and-gold canvas, soft and ghostly. Dust floated in the beams like sparks frozen in the air.

She’d already been practicing when we arrived early that morning. We hadn’t seen her since last night—since the moment the ringmaster had burst into the tent and chaos had followed. Whatever had happened after that had driven her into this state of relentless repetition.

Nix was always a perfectionist, but this… this was something else.

She moved like a creature possessed. Each motion was precise, each breath measured. Sweat glistened along her throat, dampening her pale hair where it brushed against her cheek. The muscles in her arms and legs trembled from overuse, yet she didn’t stop. Not when we greeted her, not when we called her name. She just nodded once in acknowledgment before climbing back up to start again.

She wasn’t using fire; her hands shaping the flames like an extension of her will. But today, the air was cool and heavy with silence. Maybe she wanted to master every step before adding the danger back in.

To anyone else, it looked perfect. But I could tell she saw every flaw. I could feel the frustration rolling off her like heat.

When we first walked in, I’d thought maybe the ringmaster was lurking somewhere, watching her. But no—his presence was nowhere to be felt. The tent was empty except for us. Despite that, she trained as though her life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

“Should we stop her?” Blaze asked quietly beside me, his voice echoing faintly in the cavernous space.

“Probably,” I murmured. “But I doubt she’d listen.”

I watched as she climbed again, her bare feet silent against the rope ladder. Even from below, I could see the faint shimmer of the scar that traced her thigh—an old wound, one the crowd would never notice from their seats. The light caught on the moisture of her skin, turning her into something ethereal.

Her blindness didn’t hinder her. It defined her act. Every movement was memorized by sound, by air, by instinct. She didn’t need eyes to know where the next rope was or when to leap. She could hear the whisper of her own motion, the creak of the beam, the faint shift in pressure that told her when to spin.

When she dropped, the air rushed past with a soft hiss, the sound of silk ribbons snapping taut beneath her. Her body twisted midair, catching the ribbon with one arm, swinging effortlessly before landing again. Perfect. Fluid. Controlled.

And still—unsatisfied.

Her frustration built in her breath, sharper each time she landed. Whatever deal she’d made with the ringmaster was eating at her. I didn’t know what it was, but I could guess it wasn’t something she could walk away from.

She climbed again. Blaze sighed beside me, dragging a hand through his hair.

“She’s going to drive herself into the ground at this rate.”

As we watched her tumble toward the ground, I made a split-second decision—one I already knew Nix was going to hate.

“Grab her when she reaches the ground,” I said.

Blaze snorted, his tone threaded with amusement. “She’s going to kill us.”

I shrugged, unable to help the faint smirk tugging at my lips. “We could just go silent, and she wouldn’t even know where we are.”

Blaze barked out a laugh. “That’s mean, Phys.”

“Maybe,” I said, eyes tracking the arc of her body as she twisted through the air, movements sharp but fluid, driven by stubborn perfection. “But she’s been at this for hours. She’ll never stop unless we make her.”

Nix was all motion and muscle—every line of her body a testament to control and exhaustion. Her breath came in uneven bursts that I could hear even from across the tent. The air still smelled faintly of burnt oil, sawdust, and the lingering sweetness of the fireproofing powder that coated the silks she used. Around us, the big top was mostly empty, the muted creak of ropes and the distant cry of an animal the only sounds left from the sleeping circus.

When she finally landed—graceful even in frustration—both Blaze and I moved toward her. She stiffened immediately, her body going taut the second our boots scraped the dirt floor. Even blind, Nix always knew.

She tried to climb the rigging again, muscles coiling to spring upward, but Blaze caught her arm before she could.

“Will you two stop bothering me? I’m practicing,” she snapped, her tone sharp enough to cut.

“You mean you’re trying to run yourself into the ground,” Blaze countered, unbothered.

Before she could argue further, we each took an arm and started walking her out of the tent. She dug her heels in, cursed under her breath, and fought us with all the fury of a storm—but neither of us let go.

We led her past the edge of the circus grounds, where the air grew cooler, the sounds of the camp dimming behind us. The scent of hay and sweat faded, replaced by the damp, earthy perfume of moss and pine. Crickets sang in the underbrush, their chirping the only witness to her endless grumbling.

By the time we reached the place we’d chosen—a soft patch of grass beneath a canopy of whispering trees—her protests had quieted to mumbled complaints. Blaze and I sat her down gently, one on each side to keep her from bolting.

“Can you at least tell me where you took me?” she demanded, crossing her arms.

“We don’t know,” Blaze admitted with a grin. “We like to wander the forests near wherever the circus sets up.”

“So you just walked me into a forest you don’t even know?” Her tone was pure disbelief, laced with the kind of irritation that told me she was more worried than angry.

I leaned back on my hands, smirking. “Exactly.”

I shifted a little closer to her, lowering my voice as I described what I could see.

“We’re sitting at the edge of a small cliff—high enough to see the sunrise stretch over the trees. The sun’s just cresting the horizon, and the clouds are curling around it like soft ribbons. The sky behind them is glowing, all pink and orange. It’s painting the forest in this warm, golden light… It’s honestly beautiful.”

As I spoke, she leaned toward me, her head tilting slightly as if she could catch the image through my words. The faint scent of her—warm skin, silk, and faint traces of the oils the performers used on their ropes—wrapped around me. The closer she came, the harder it was to ignore the memory of last night’s rehearsal, when she’d moved so gracefully that it had been impossible not to stare. I tried to shove the thought away, focusing instead on how my words softened her shoulders and slowed her breathing.

Blaze, of course, couldn’t leave silence alone. He leaned in from her other side, his grin obvious even in his voice. “So, what made you so tense in the first place?”

She hesitated, fingers toying with the edge of the grass beneath her. For a long moment, only the quiet hum of the waking forest filled the air—the distant chatter of performers setting up tents, the muted call of an animal in a nearby cage. Then she finally said, “Our new performance needs to be perfect.”

Blaze tilted his head. “Can we ask why?”

“Nope.”

Her reply was sharp but playful, a tease laced with exhaustion. Blaze chuckled, deep and low. “Alright then. If we can’t ask, we’ll just have to work under your orders until we’ve made the perfect routine to match your silks.”

She let out a soft laugh—light, unguarded, and completely different from the clipped tone she usually used. It was the first genuine laugh I’d ever heard from her.

“Fine,” she said, smiling. “But don’t come crying to anyone when it gets too hard.”

It wasn’t just a challenge. It was a promise—one that made my pulse quicken for reasons I didn’t dare admit.