Chapter 2 — Echoes Under the Tent
Sera
The morning sun filtered through the patched canvas of the Starlit Tent, casting subdued beams of gold over the sawdust-strewn ground. Sera stood at the edge of the central ring, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Beyond the tent, faint sounds of the circus waking drifted through the air—workers calling out instructions, the groan of wagon wheels being repaired, and the occasional clink of metal tools. Yet, to Sera, it felt too quiet. The kind of quiet that pressed against her temples and gnawed at her resolve. The circus, once alive with music and laughter, now seemed brittle, as though one misstep might shatter everything.
The journal in her satchel tugged at her side like an anchor, its weight a constant reminder of her father’s final plea. Her emerald eyes traced the worn ropes and pulleys above, the sunlight catching on the frayed fibers and glinting off the rusted metal. The Starlit Tent had always been a sanctuary, but now it loomed as a fragile monument to her parents’ dreams—and her failure to keep them alive. If the ropes snapped, if the tent collapsed, what would be left? Would the circus survive? Would she?
Her fists clenched at the thought, the leather of her gloves creaking softly. She longed to lift her feet from the sinking foundation of responsibility, but the weight of the troupe’s expectations held her fast. The memory of her father’s voice whispered through her mind: *“Our legacy depends on it. Protect it.”*
“Morning, Seraphina.” Isolde’s lyrical voice broke through her thoughts. Sera turned as her friend approached, balancing two tin mugs of coffee. Even in her rehearsal tunic, Isolde moved like she was on a tightrope—graceful, deliberate, weightless. The faint steam curling from the mugs rose against the cool morning air.
“Just Sera,” she corrected, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. She took one of the mugs, cradling it in her gloved hands. “You’ve known me long enough to know I hate the formalities.”
Isolde’s answering smile was warm, though a flicker of sadness lingered in her dark eyes. “Habit,” she said lightly. Her gaze followed Sera’s, rising to the rigging above. “More repairs, I see.”
“Always more repairs,” Sera murmured, taking a sip of the bitter coffee. The warmth seemed to seep into her chest, soothing but fleeting. “We can barely afford to keep the lights on, let alone fix everything this place needs. Every time I look up there, I feel like we’re one storm away from disaster.” Her voice cracked slightly, but she masked it by taking another drink.
Isolde tilted her head, her voice soft but steady. “The tent’s held this long. So have you.”
The words settled in Sera’s gut, heavy with both truth and expectation. She met Isolde’s gaze, only to feel the quiet concern radiating back at her. It was the kind of look that made her want to confess everything: the fear, the guilt, the desperate desire to run away from it all. But she couldn’t—not even to Isolde. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and forced a small laugh. “Don’t start.”
“I wasn’t starting,” Isolde replied, raising her free hand in mock surrender. “Just observing.” Her tone was light, teasing, but her eyes remained unreadable.
Whatever retort Sera might have offered was cut short by a sudden, guttural growl tearing through the air. The sound carried from the direction of the menagerie, followed by hurried voices and a metallic clang. Sera’s heart jolted. She set her mug down on the nearest crate and started toward the noise, her pulse quickening. Isolde followed close behind, her movements as silent as a shadow.
The menagerie was alive with restless energy. Lanterns swung from hooks, their flickering light casting jagged shadows over the rows of cages. The air smelled of hay, damp earth, and the sharp musk of animals. Workers clustered near the tiger’s enclosure, shifting uneasily as the massive Bengal tiger paced inside, its amber eyes gleaming with agitation. Its low growls rumbled through the ground like distant thunder.
At the center of it all stood Casimir “Cas” Voren, his broad shoulders square and his gloved hands raised in a calming gesture. His disheveled dark hair and scuffed leather vest gave him a rugged, unshaken air. The low, gravelly murmur of his voice carried just enough weight to reach the tiger, though the words were lost to Sera.
“What’s going on?” Sera demanded as she stepped into the scene, her voice sharp. The workers turned to her with a mix of relief and nervousness, their gazes flickering between her and the restless tiger.
“The new harness chain rattled when we brought it in,” one of the workers explained hastily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Spooked him.”
Sera’s emerald eyes narrowed. “And no one thought to inform me before it got to this point?”
“It’s under control,” Cas said without looking at her, his attention still on the tiger.
“It doesn’t look under control,” she shot back, taking a step closer. “If that cage gives—”
“It won’t,” Cas interrupted, his voice calm but edged with steel. He finally glanced at her over his shoulder, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers. “You don’t step into a ring with a spooked tiger unless you know what you’re doing. Let me handle it.”
The air between them tightened, their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills. Sera could feel the tension radiating from her own body, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. And yet, she knew he was right. Cas always seemed to be right, damn him. Reluctantly, she crossed her arms and stepped back. “Fine. But if something happens, it’s on you.”
Cas didn’t reply. He turned back to the tiger, his voice dropping into a low, soothing cadence. The workers held their breath as the tiger’s pacing began to slow, its growls softening into faint rumbles. Cas removed one of his gloves, his movements slow and deliberate, and tossed a small piece of meat into the cage. The tiger sniffed at it before settling onto its haunches, its tail flicking lazily.
Only then did Cas straighten and look at Sera again. “Satisfied?”
“Relieved,” she admitted, though her tone remained edged. “But next time, follow protocol. I need to know about problems like this before they escalate.”
Cas’s expression stayed neutral, but his jaw tightened. “Noted.” He turned back to the workers, issuing quiet instructions as they secured the cage. The tension in his broad shoulders was subtle but unmistakable.
Isolde broke the silence as they walked away, her voice light with an edge of humor. “You two really know how to brighten a morning.”
Sera sighed, pressing her fingers against her temple. “He’s insufferable.”
“He’s careful,” Isolde countered, her tone softening. “And good at what he does. You may not like his approach, but he cares about the circus as much as you do.”
“Doesn’t give him the right to act like he’s the only one holding it together,” Sera muttered, though her voice lacked conviction.
Isolde’s smile turned knowing. “No, it doesn’t. But then again, maybe you’re more alike than you think.”
Sera didn’t reply. She quickened her pace, her gaze already drawn back to the Starlit Tent. Its fraying edges swayed gently in the morning breeze, a fragile web of ropes and canvas holding everything together. Somewhere beneath her feet, her father’s secret waited to be uncovered. And somewhere beyond the horizon, Lucien Bellefleur bided his time, his hunger for revenge creeping closer with every passing day.
Pausing at the edge of the ring, Sera clenched her fists, her breath steadying. The circus was hers to protect—frayed ropes, restless tigers, and all. No matter how heavy the weight, she wouldn’t let it fall. Not again.
