They push into another section of the Cirque, pulling back a curtain, and I slip in behind them.
“Well, what do we have here,” Valen snarls, tone quiet and vicious.
I glance around and realize it’s a nursery. Faded mobiles hang above old cribs, pale moonlight slipping through slits in the canvas.
I move around my younger and spot Valen’s standing over a crib, and inside sitting is a young child, maybe two years old.
“We won’t be needing you either,” he says, flipping out his knife with a flick of his wrist.
“No!” me and younger-me both shout, stepping forward in panic at the same time, voices overlapping, terror ripping out of us in sync.
Valen pauses, side-eyeing young me, his knife poised above the child’s throat. I watch younger me, the fear tightening in his chest, but he wipes his swollen eyes with trembling palms before stepping forward.
“I mean, why do we have to kill her? A baby? Maybe someone will want her...”
Young me’s voice quivers, a plea slipping out.
“Want her? Who would want this child? Her mother was filth, and this kid will be too.” Valen spits out the words with venom, his eyes never leaving the baby. “Plus, she’s… female.”
“Please, Uncle Valen,” young me begs softly, the words barely escaping through the tightness in his throat. “Please don’t kill her.”
Valen remains quiet for a long moment, staring down at the child, his expression unreadable. I hold my breath, eyes locked on him, waiting.
Then, without a word, he flips his knife closed and shoves it into his pocket and I let out a shaky exhale, a small flicker of relief, but it doesn't last long.
He leans into the crib, scooping the child into his arms with a grunt, adjusting her so she sits cradled against him. “You just got lucky,” Valen snarls, his voice low and dangerous. He looks over at young me. “I’ll only do this because you did me and your parents proud tonight.”
Young me’s faint nod is all that follows, a quiet answer.
I move closer, drawn to the child, my heart still hammering.
As Valen shifts her in his arms, and I notice she’s got thick black hair and blue eyes, but when her blanket falls to the floor, my eyes snap down to it.
As soon as I see the name embroidered on the fabric, my throat closes up.
A suffocating panic surges through me and the world around me begins to blur, spinning as I try to steady myself, my breath shallow and quick.
Wrath -
“Aurelia!” Her name tears from my throat as I jolt upright in bed, sweat soaking my skin.
I twist around, my hand shooting out to the space beside me where she usually is and it’s empty. The cold sheets hit me like a shock to my system and before I can think, I’m up and out of bed, racing for the door.
I yank it open, barely hearing the creak of the hinges, and storm through the trailer. Hell, Noir, and Soul are sitting at the kitchen table, but everything around me is a blur, my mind fixated on one thing. Seeing her.
“Wrath?” Noir calls, confusion in her voice, but I don’t stop, don’t even look at her.
I burst out into the night, moving like a force, driven by a gut feeling that something’s wrong. The Cirque is just ahead, the shadows swallowing the path, and I knowshe’s there. She said she was training, but it’s since that dream, everything feels fucking wrong now.
I don’t slow down. I’m on autopilot, each step urgent, my feet pounding against the cracked ground before I enter the back entrance of the tent.
I can hear everyone following behind me now, their steps quick, voices laced with panic. My heart slams against my chest, but when I enter the main tent, it’s empty, silent and eerie.
My red eyes scan the darkened space, wide and frantic, searching for any sign of movement. Any sign of her.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I spot something or someone between the seats, crumpled and unmoving. I rush forward, and when I’m close, I kneel beside her limp form. It’s Madame and blood pools around her like a spreading stain, dark and soaking into the dirt.
Hell is right behind me now, his expression one of pure shock.
