The Fool’s Troupe was buzzing with energy—lights, laughter, and the rustle of costumes before a grand performance. You weaved between prop racks and paper lanterns, searching for your ever-dramatic captain.

You found Brant backstage, standing in front of a mirror, adjusting his cravat with exaggerated flair. His reflection caught yours before you could speak.

“Ah! My loyal companion arrives at last,” he said with a smirk, spinning dramatically to face you. “Were you worried I’d flee the stage and leave the spotlight to the understudies?”

“I was worried you’d tie that cravat so tight you’d pass out mid-monologue,” you teased.

He chuckled, placing a hand over his heart. “Such concern! Truly, you care for me.”