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“What’s wrong?” I ask him quietly.

“Visit from our beloved Ringmaster earlier,” he says, his voice soft before he looks over at me. “Don’t worry about it. Nothing I can’t deal with.”

His words hang between us like a noose. I know their history, and I also know how much The Ringmaster hated me for distracting Tobias, and how much I hated Tobias for taking my place in the In-Between. However, now with Emerson, I don’t have to ask him his feelings toward her — just like he doesn’t ask me. We already know.

“Tomorrow night’s our final act,” I say, my voice strained. “If you have any ideas ... now would be the time.”

Tobias swallows hard. “I know.”

When The Echoes Break

The Carnival is patient.

It knows the show is ever-changing.

Even the endless echoes wait.

A love that clings and is only released by a love that frees.

Chapter 31

The Carnival lights dim one by one, like little dying stars across the fairground. I sit alone on the edge of the carousel platform, my legs dangling over the side as I watch the last performer retreat to their quarters. Dawn is still hours away, but the witching hour has passed, leaving the grounds in some strange space.

My fingers trace the brand on my forearm, still tender, a reminder of my fate. The mark of The Carnival. My mark now. I’d come here looking for answers about Evelyn, a fool’s hope that I would find her. Instead, I found ... this. Whatever this is.

A cool breeze carries the lingering scent of caramel apples and incense, and I close my eyes, letting the sensations wash over me. The smooth wood worn beneath my palms. The distant melody of the calliope, playing softly without a musician. In another life, without knowing what this place is – this moment would almost be peaceful.

“Brooding doesn’t suit you, Little Bird.”

Tobias’s voice calls to me in that part-teasing, part-seduction that I’d come to recognize as his.

“I’m not brooding,” I say, opening my eyes to find him watching me. His tall figure is silhouetted against the fading lights. “I’m thinking.”

“Ah, of course. My mistake.” He approaches slowly before settling beside me on the platform. No flowing coat, just a simple black shirt that clings to his frame, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His blonde hair catches what little light remains, creating a halo that seems almost too perfect for a man who deals in illusions.

“Thinking about what exactly?” He asks, turning to study me.

“My life choices.” I offer a wry smile. “Specifically the one where I followed clues to a haunted carnival.”

Tobias laughs, “Most people would be screaming by now, not sitting here thinking.”

“I’m not most people, remember?”

“No,” he says, taking my hand in his as his thumb brushes across my knuckles, “you certainly are not.”

We sit like this for a while, in silence. I find myself studying his profile — the sharp line of his jaw, the slight curve of his lips. Without the face paint, without the adorning mask, he almost seems ... vulnerable.

“Why weren’t you afraid of me?” He asks suddenly. “Even the first time we met, you weren’t scared.”

“I probably should have been.” If I had, I would have run, and I wouldn’t be here. Even as that piece of me thinks that through, I hate it, because if I wasn’t here … I wouldn’t have met them either.

His gaze remains fixed on the distant horizon. “I’m not a good man.”

“I don’t think anyone here is particularly good,” I reply. “Myself included.”

That drew his attention back to me. “You don’t belong here.”

“Yet here I am.”