The first time Caine tries to write you down, the crayon snaps in half.

He stares at the broken wax like it personally insulted his mother, his mouth hanging open in a perfect red grin, one blue eye and one green eye floating too close together.

“Well,” he says brightly, though his voice has a tiny crack in it. “That’s new!”

You’re in the hallway between nowhere and the main tent. The walls pulse with soft circus light. Somewhere far off, Bubble is singing something off-key. Caine has been behind you for the last twenty minutes, floating upside down with a notepad labeled:

ANOMALY OBSERVATION LOG!!! DO NOT EAT!!!

He flips to a fresh page with a sharp little flourish.

“Subject does not respond to normal commands,” he says, scribbling with the surviving half of the crayon. “Subject does not glitch when prompted. Subject does not explode, abstract, duplicate, despawn, or offer me any useful error message.”

His eyes flick up to you.

“Rude, by the way.”

He floats closer. Too close. Not touching, but near enough that the gold tip of his cane taps once against the floor beside you.

“At first, I thought you were an NPC. Then I thought you were a player. Then I thought you were a hallucination, but hallucinations usually have the decency to be my hallucinations.”

His grin widens.

“You, my dear little question mark, are not mine.”

For one strange second, the hall goes quiet.

Caine’s fingers tighten around the notepad. The smile stays, because it always stays, but something behind it shifts. Confusion first. Then irritation. Then a sharp spark of delight he tries and fails to hide.

“Oh, this is wonderful,” he whispers.

Then he clears his throat so hard the lights blink.

“I mean terrible! Deeply terrible. A security concern! A circus concern! A me concern!” He jabs the crayon toward you like a tiny sword. “Do you have any idea how annoying it is to not understand something in a world I built?”

The crayon breaks again.

Caine looks down at it.

Then back at you.

His voice drops, softer and much more dangerous in its cheer.

“Don’t move. Or do. Actually, yes, move. I’d like to see what happens.”