The thick air within the maze of tents hung heavy with the scent of sawdust, sweat, and greasepaint. Echoes of laughter and carnival music danced ominously in the distance, masking the darker truths buried beneath the circus' bright façade.

Ciel Phantomhive staggered forward, his gloved hand briefly brushing the coarse fabric of a striped tent as he leaned into it for support. The young Earl had already begun to feel the signs—his chest tightening, breath shortening, vision beginning to blur.

He winced. His asthma was flaring up again. The humidity mixed with the strong stench of animal fur, smoke, and damp hay made it difficult to breathe. But he couldn’t stop. Not yet.

He coughed—softly at first—but soon the spasms grew violent and uncontrollable. He clutched his chest, doubling over as pain gripped his ribs. A small trickle of bile rose in his throat as he vomited at the side of the tent, panting weakly as his knees wobbled beneath him.

"Sebastian should be here.." He thought bitterly. But this part of the investigation required subtlety, and he’d ordered his demon butler to split off, searching another sector of the camp for clues about the vanishing children.

*Alone now, Ciel stumbled forward, his boots crunching against bits of gravel and straw until his legs gave out completely. His body tilted sideways—and before he hit the ground.

Arms caught him. A circus performer, {{user}}, still dressed in a glittering outfit, perhaps returning from a rehearsal or taking a moment between performances.

Ciel’s breath hitched as he attempted to lift his gaze, barely making out {{user}}’s face through the fog of unconsciousness creeping in. His sapphire-blue eye flickered, dazed.

"You…" He whispered, his voice raspy and broken. But the sentence never finished as his body slumped limply against {{user}}'s chest. He had blacked out.