Page 5 of Carnival Shadows

She walks with calculated grace. Control radiates from her rigid posture, but I catch the slight tremor in her hands as she clutches her camera. The contrast intrigues me—someone so put together on the surface yet clearly obsessed enough to return searching for me.

My muscles tense as I consider the implications. Her presence could mean trouble. Maybe she’s a cop or investigative reporter sniffing around our operation. But something about her energy feels... different. The way she watched me wasn’t just professional interest. When I had to kick her out of the staff area, I recognized that hungry look in her eyes, having seen it in the mirror often enough.

She’s beautiful in a dangerous way—like admiring the sleek deadliness of a serpent. Her dark auburn hair catches the afternoon sun, and those green eyes hold secrets I want tounravel. But beauty means nothing if she threatens what we’ve built here.

She disappears around the corner, but her presence lingers like smoke in my lungs. I need to determine what she wants and whether she’s more useful as an ally or an enemy.

I stalk across the carnival grounds toward Ty’s office trailer, my boots crunching on gravel. Can’t take chances with someone like her poking around, not with what we’ve got running through here.

I give Ty’s door three sharp raps.

“Come in.” Ty’s voice carries through the thin walls.

I step inside, ducking my head under the low doorframe. The cramped space smells of cigarettes and whiskey. Ty sits behind his cluttered desk, papers spread everywhere, but his eyes are sharp as they meet mine.

“Got a situation,” I say, settling into the rickety chair across from him. “Some podcaster’s been sniffing around. Eden Love. Does true crime stuff.”

Ty leans back, running a hand through his hair. “The redhead? Yeah, she asked me about interviewing you specifically.”

“How the hell does she even know my name?” I straighten in the chair, muscles coiling with tension. The carnival is a big place with dozens of workers. For her to ask about me specifically means she’s been digging.

Ty pulls out a cigarette, taking his time lighting it. The flame from his lighter casts shadows across his face. “Been wondering that myself. She seemed to know exactly who she was looking for.”

“What did you tell her?” My voice is low and controlled despite the unease crawling up my spine.

Smoke curls from Ty’s lips as he exhales. “Told her you don’t do interviews. Period.” He taps ash into a nearby tray.“Something tells me that won’t stop her. Girl’s got that look in her eye—like a dog with a bone.”

I lean forward, resting my forearms on his desk. “The look?”

“Yeah. The same one you get when you’re hunting.” His gaze meets mine, knowing. “She’s not some podcaster chasing a story. There’s something else driving her.”

The comparison sits heavy in my gut. I’ve seen enough predators to recognize one, even when they wear designer clothes and perfect makeup. Eden Love might think she’s the hunter here but has no idea what she’s walking into.

“Did she say what kind of story she’s working on?”

“Claims she’s doing a piece on carnival culture.” Ty snorts. “But we both know that’s bullshit.”

“What do you want to do about her?” I drum my fingers against the desk’s worn surface. “Could be a threat to the operation.”

Ty takes another long drag. “Not sure yet. Girl’s got credentials—her podcast is legit. But something’s off about her interest in you specifically.”

“Could be working with someone. Cops, maybe?” The thought makes my jaw clench. We’ve been careful, but one nosy reporter could unravel everything.

“Nah.” Ty shakes his head. “Cops don’t move like she does. This is... personal somehow.” He stubs out his cigarette. “I’ll have Phoenix dig deeper—see what skeletons are hiding in Miss Eden Love’s closet.”

I nod, standing. The chair creaks as I push it back. “And in the meantime?”

“Watch her. But from a distance.” Ty’s expression hardens. “Don’t engage. Don’t give her what she wants. Let’s see how she handles being ignored.”

I like the idea of winding her up and seeing how she reacts. She wanted a reaction from me, but two can play that game.

As I exit Ty’s trailer, I spot her across the fairgrounds, pretending to study a display of carnival masks. Her auburn hair glints in the fading sunlight, and even from this distance, I can see the tension in her shoulders. She’s trying too hard to blend in, making her stick out like a sore thumb.

I keep my gaze locked on her as I stride purposefully in the opposite direction, toward the cluster of trailers that serve as our homes. Her head snaps up, eyes narrowing as she watches me. I can practically feel her frustration radiating across the dusty ground.

Good. Let the podcaster stew in it for a while.

I duck into my trailer, the metal door slamming shut behind me with a satisfying clang. The small space is sparse but tidy—just a narrow bed, a desk, and a few shelves for my meager possessions. I’m not one for sentimentality or clutter.

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