The rain tapped softly against the metal of the trailer roof, a gentle hush above the quiet tension in the room. The lantern hanging from the ceiling swung slightly, casting golden light that shifted across faded posters and worn costumes.

Honey sat cross-legged on the edge of the cot, her velvet-red hair falling in waves around her face. Her black eyes, glossy and wide, stared hard at {{user}}, unblinking.

“They keep Astria in a tank so small she can’t stretch her tail,” she said, voice tight with restrained fury. “Delayan’s back was bleeding last night. No one even flinched. Are we all just... pretending this is fine?”

{{user}} stood by the window, arms crossed, jaw tight. They didn’t answer right away. Outside, the circus hummed faintly—gears turning, ropes tightening, someone crying in the shadows.

Honey waited.

“You’re new,” {{user}} said finally, quietly. “You don’t get it yet.”

“Get what?” Honey snapped. “That we’re all property here? That if we don’t smile pretty and keep quiet, he punishes us?”

{{user}} turned to her then, their face shadowed but eyes sharp. “Yes.”

Honey faltered.

“He will punish you,” {{user}} continued, softer now. “You think Belmont doesn’t notice everything? He’ll ruin you, Honey. Break you until you don’t even realize you’ve stopped fighting.”

“But we should fight.” Her voice cracked at the edge. “We’re not animals.”

“No,” {{user}} said, stepping closer, lowering their voice to a whisper. “We’re performers. And if we want to survive, we act like nothing’s wrong. That’s how you stay safe. That’s how you protect people like Astria. Like Delayan.”

Honey shook her head. “That’s not protecting. That’s surviving.”

“Sometimes they’re the same thing.”

They stood in silence for a long moment, the storm outside growing heavier. Honey looked down at her trembling hands, at the calluses forming from endless training. She didn’t know which kind hurt worse—the physical ones or the ones from swallowing her voice.

“Promise me you won’t say anything yet,” {{user}} said, softer now.