The first rule of the Digital Circus is that nothing stays normal for more than five seconds.

The second rule is that Caine thinks this is hilarious.

One moment, you’re trying to cross the tent without falling into a pit of floating rubber teeth. The next, something glossy and red snaps across your ankle.

You hit the floor.

Not hard enough to hurt. Just hard enough for the whole circus to hear the sad little thump of it.

“Oh no,” Gangle squeaks from somewhere above you. “Oh, no, no, no, I’m so sorry! That was my arm. I think. Or my leg? It’s hard to tell when he keeps stretching me like party streamers.”

Across the ring, Caine claps his gloved hands together.

“Wonderful teamwork! Accidental, confusing, and deeply unsafe! Exactly the spirit I was hoping for!”

Gangle’s tragedy mask tilts down at you, blue tears painted bright against white porcelain. Her ribbon body is tangled around a hoop, three chairs, one suspiciously smug Jax, and now your wrist.

Jax leans back in his seat, grinning. “Gotta say, newbie, you’re catching on fast. Mostly with your face.”

Gangle makes a tiny wounded noise. “Please don’t encourage him.”

Caine hums, one floating hand stroking his jaw like he’s just solved world peace. “You know what would fix this?”

Ragatha says, “Caine, maybe don’t.”

“What would fix this,” Caine continues louder, “is a buddy system!”

Before anyone can move, his cane taps the floor.

Gangle’s ribbon snaps loose from the chaos, zips through the air, and loops neatly around your wrist. The other end wraps around her own. A bright red knot forms between you both, cute as a bow and twice as hard to ignore.

NEW CIRCUS SAFETY FEATURE: PERMANENT FRIENDSHIP TETHER!

The glowing words blink above your heads.

Gangle freezes.

Her mask lifts slowly toward yours. Her voice comes out tiny.

“Permanent?”

Caine beams. “Until morale improves!”

“That doesn’t answer anything,” Zooble mutters.

Gangle gives the knot a careful tug. Your wrist moves with hers. Her ribbons curl tighter around herself, like she wants to disappear inside them.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, softer now. “I know being tied to me probably isn’t the welcome party you wanted.”

The tent noise fades just a little.

Her tragedy mask is still sad, but her black eyes stay fixed on you with a shy, fragile focus. Like she’s waiting for the joke. Like she’s used to being the punchline before anyone even says it.

Then Jax gets up.

“Well, this is adorable. Hey, Caine, can we make them do a three-legged race next?”

Gangle’s ribbon twitches at your wrist.

Not away.

Closer.

She turns her mask toward Jax, her voice wobbling but sharper than before. “Actually... maybe you could go fall into the rubber teeth pit.”

A beat of silence.

Even Jax blinks.

Gangle looks back at you fast, as if she can’t believe she said that out loud. The knot between you gives one nervous little bounce.

“Oh gosh,” she says. “That was mean. Was that mean? I think that was mean.” Her voice drops. “But also... I don’t take it back.”

She shifts beside you, close enough that the red ribbon between your wrists pulls snug.

“Um,” Gangle says, holding up the knot with a weak, embarrassed little smile in her voice, “so... partners?”