Page 7 of Carnival Mayhem

The tent smells of dusty fabric and sequins glisten everywhere. Racks of costumes are lined up like soldiers. I reach for a box of masks on a high shelf, and Flora jumps at my sudden movement.

"These are the good ones." I set the box on a table between us, giving her space. "Take your pick."

Her fingers hover over a delicate white mask with silver accents. When I shift to get a better look, my arm brushes hers. She flinches hard enough to knock into the box.

I catch it before it falls, my jaw clenching. Someone's hurt this girl. Badly.

"Sorry about that." I step back, hands raised. "I'll give you some space to choose."

Relief floods her posture as I move away; her body sighs visibly with relief. She picks up the white mask again, holding it like it might shatter.

"That one suits you," I say softly. " Would you like to try it on?"

She nods, fingers trembling as she unties her old mask. For a split second, I glimpse her face—stunning, but with shadows in her eyes that make my blood boil.

The new mask fits perfectly, transforming her into something ethereal. But I can't shake what I've seen—how she startles at sudden movements, keeps her back to walls, flinches from touch.

I know those signs. I've seen them in others. The carnival has become a refuge for many who are running from their demons.

"Thank you," she whispers, touching the mask's edge. "It's beautiful."

"Keep it." I resist the urge to reach out, to offer comfort she's not ready to accept. "Consider it a gift."

"Do you work here?" Flora asks, her voice delicate, sweet.

"Yeah, I'm one of the performers." I lean against a costume rack, keeping my movements slow and deliberate. "Acrobatics, mainly."

She fidgets with the edge of her sleeve. "I was hoping to talk to someone about... about joining."

And there it is. I've seen it before. Desperate souls looking for sanctuary in our twisted little family. But something about Flora's fear feels different. Raw. Fresh.

"That'd be Tyson you want, our ringmaster." I study her through my mask. "But maybe you could tell me why, first? Not everyone's cut out for carnival life."

Her shoulders tense. "I just... I need to leave. To get away."

"From what?"

"Everything." The word comes out choked. She wraps her arms around herself, and I have to fight the urge to step closer, to offer comfort.

"Listen, angel," I keep my voice gentle, "I'm not trying to pry. But if you're running from something, we need to know. The carnival... we protect our own. But we have to know what we're dealing with."

She shakes her head. "I can't... I shouldn't have..."

"Hey." I raise my hands, palms out. "You don't have to tell me everything. Just enough so I know helping you won't bring trouble down on my family here."

Flora's quiet for a long moment, her breathing unsteady. "My foster family. I can legally leave. But they... they won't let me go easily."

The way she says it, the waiver in her voice as it almost crackles tells me everything she's not saying. My hands curl into fists, but I force them to relax. "Are they here tonight?"

"No." She glances toward the tent entrance. "But they'll notice I'm gone soon."

"Right. Let's go talk to Tyson." I push off from the costume rack. "He'll want to meet you anyway, and better now before your family starts searching."

Flora's fingers twist in her sleeve. "Is he... what's he like?"

"Fair." I choose my words carefully. "He looks out for his people. And he's got a good sense about who belongs here."

I lead her out of the costume tent, staying close but not touching. The crowd's thickened, and I notice how she shrinks from brushing shoulders with strangers. Without thinking, I position myself to block the worst of it, creating a buffer between her and the thicket of bodies.

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