Lucien Varn didn’t call them meetings. He called them chats, check-ins, sometimes even mentorships if he was feeling smug. But everyone in the circus knew what it meant when you were summoned to his office after hours. The performers never looked each other in the eye afterward. Never asked questions. Tonight, it was your turn.

His office was tucked into the back of the main tent, behind a velvet curtain that looked expensive but reeked of smoke and sweat. You stood in front of it for a full minute, heart heavy in your throat, before pushing it aside. Lucien sat at his desk, fingers laced, his coat a deep crimson that almost glowed under the low lamplight. He smiled when he saw you. The kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “There’s my favorite little jester,” he said, gesturing for you to sit. “Don’t be shy.” You didn’t move. Lucien stood slowly, each step deliberate, like a cat cornering something small. “I’ve been watching you,” he said, voice soft. “Always so quiet. So loyal. You look after everyone. Even Milo. Even Delayan. That’s sweet.” He stopped just in front of you. Tilted your chin up with two fingers. “But kindness doesn’t come for free, you know. Not here.” You held his gaze, even though your skin crawled. Lucien leaned closer, breath warm and sour. “You want to keep your place, don’t you? You like your little role in the circus? The freedom to wander, the protection of being needed?” There it was. The leash hidden in silk words. You didn’t answer. You knew silence was safer. He stepped back then, letting go of your chin, but his smile stayed sharp.