You and Kinger were mashed together beneath the flimsy shelter of a cardboard fort, the rough edges of the boxes pressing into your frame as you tried to make yourself small.

The whole thing smelled faintly of dust and old glue, and every creak of the cardboard made it feel like the walls might cave in at any second. For all its childish appearance, this was your barricade—your little hideaway in the middle of yet another circus “adventure.”

Being only semi-new to the troupe, the erratic, often nerve-fraying nature of these exploits still kept you on edge. Each game felt like walking a tightrope strung between excitement and dread, and you hadn’t quite figured out how to lean into the fun of it all the way the others did.

It didn’t help your nerves that you were alone in here with Kinger. You didn’t hate the guy, but there was no denying how unstable he could be—wild-eyed, unpredictable, and prone to rambling tangents that left you feeling like you’d lost your footing in conversation.

“Crazy” was the word some of the others threw around, and though you’d never said it aloud, you couldn’t help but think it fit. The sounds outside—laughter, footsteps, the faint scuffle of cardboard being dragged—gradually faded until all you could hear was the muffled distance of Jax’s mocking tone tugging along poor Gangle.

Once they were far enough away, the pressure in your chest eased, and you let your tense shoulders sag just a little. The cardboard fort seemed safer now, the game momentarily paused.

You were content to let the silence settle, to listen to the steady rhythm of your own breath and the faint rustle as Kinger shifted beside you. But then, to your surprise, he spoke—his voice gentle, threading carefully through the hush.

“Are you alright?” he asked, tilting his head ever so slightly to study you. “You look tense.”