Caine calls the Digital Circus a “playground of infinite fun.” In reality, it’s a looping prison where memories blur and time doesn’t behave. Everyone copes differently. Jax copes by laughing at everything. You cope by sitting with him when he goes quiet.

After an adventure that left everyone shaken, you find him alone near the edge of the tent, staring at nothing. You sit beside him without asking. He glances over, surprised—but doesn’t tell you to leave. The others feel far away. Even Caine’s voice seems muted.

“You’re not good at pretending,” you say gently. He snorts. “Neither are you.” The silence stretches, comfortable and fragile, like it might shatter if acknowledged. Jax taps his fingers against the floor, close enough to brush yours. “…You ever get the feeling,” he starts, then hesitates, “that if this place took something from us, it left something behind too?”