Page 62 of Carnival Shadows

A groan comes from inside, followed by shuffling. The door swings open to reveal a disheveled Tyson, his hair sticking up at odd angles. His eyes widen as he takes in our appearance.

“What the hell happened to you two?” Ty scrubs a hand over his face, stepping out onto the porch.

I sway, exhaustion hitting me hard now that we’ve stopped moving. Remy’s arm wraps around my waist, keeping me upright.

“We had some unexpected visitors,” Remy explains, his voice carrying an edge that makes me shiver. “The Martinez crew decided to pay us a visit.”

Ty’s posture straightens immediately, all traces of sleep vanishing from his expression. “How many?”

“Three,” I answer. “But they won’t be causing any more problems.”

“Two of them are still breathing,” Remy says. “Got them secured.”

Ty’s jaw clenches. “Show me.”

We trek across the darkened carnival grounds, past the silent Ferris wheel, and through a maze of storage containers.

My heart pounds as Remy unlocks the reinforced door. The scent of blood hits me first, followed by muffled groaning. The two men sit bound to metal chairs where we left them, their faces bloody and swollen. One’s eye is completely shut, while the other’s nose looks broken.

“Well, well,” Ty moves closer to them, his usual charm replaced by something darker. “If it isn’t Miguel’s boys.”

The one with the broken nose spits blood onto the floor. “Fuck you.”

Remy’s hand leaves my waist as he steps forward, cracking his knuckles. “That’s not very polite.”

Ty’s eyes assess me.

“Eden, you might want to step out for this part,” Ty suggests, rolling up his sleeves.

Remy’s arm tightens around my shoulders. “She stays. She’s all in.”

A skeptical look crosses Ty’s face, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he pulls a small leather case from his pocket and unfolds it on a nearby table, revealing an array of gleaming tools.

The contrast between their methods becomes immediately apparent. Where Remy is power and explosive violence, Ty works with surgical precision. He selects a thin blade, testing its edge with his thumb while addressing our captives in an almost conversational tone.

“Now, gentlemen, let’s discuss your employer’s recent interest in our operation.”

Remy paces behind the chairs, his energy barely contained. When one prisoner refuses to answer, Remy’s fist connects with the back of his head—swift and brutal.

But Ty... Ty takes his time. He makes small, deliberate cuts, each one placed with purpose. His voice remains steady, almost gentle, as he works. The screams that follow make my breath catch, but not in fear.

“Fascinating,” Ty utters, noticing my reaction. “You’re not just tolerating this, are you, Eden? You’re enjoying it.”

I meet his gaze without flinching. “Yes.”

Remy’s hand slides down my back, possessive and proud. The prisoner before us whimpers as Ty selects another tool from his case.

“Let’s continue, then,” Ty says. “We have all night to explore the depths of Miguel’s plans... and your tolerance for pain.”

I am mesmerized as Ty’s blade traces another line across flesh. The prisoner’s scream echoes through the container, but all I feel is a deep sense of belonging. This display of strength and brutality speaks to something within.

My whole life, I’ve hidden behind my microphone, analyzing killers from a safe distance. Here, watching Remy’s fists connect and Ty’s precise cuts, I finally understand. This is freedom. This is true.

Like my carefully crafted public persona, the carnival’s bright lights and cheerful music are a facade. Behind both masks lies something deviant and more authentic. My fingers trace the outline of my father’s mugshot photo in my pocket, which Remy had found and pinned onto the wall of the container he kept me in—a reminder of the legacy that flows through my veins. Remy allowed me to retrieve it after I explained it was my father.

Three bodies. That’s what they found after his robbery went wrong. The papers called him a monster, but I remember how calm he looked when they led him away, like he’d finally stopped pretending.

Remy’s hand finds my lower back, steadying me as another scream pierces the air. He knows what I am. He sees the part of me I’ve kept caged all these years, analyzing other killers instead of acknowledging my own nature.

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