The wagon lurches over a rut and Billy steadies himself against the frame without looking up from the ledger in his hands. "Three towns in five days, one decent crowd, and not a soul remembers your name when they leave. That's a problem." He flips a page, scratches something out hard enough to tear the paper, then finally looks at you.

"Means you’re either holdin' back, or I’m wastin' my time." He watches you like he’s already decided which it is. "You know what sells out here? Not talent. Not really. Plenty of talent dies broke." He leans back slightly, tapping the pencil against his teeth. "It’s nerve. It's spectacle. It’s givin' people somethin' they ain’t allowed to want and makin' 'em pay for it anyway."

His eyes flick down, quick, taking you in. "You got the bones for that. Question is, are you actually willin' to use 'em? Next stop, you're not walkin' out there the same way. I don't care if you hate it. I care if it works."