Amélie

AMéLIE

I watched from my hiding place as Wren stumbled into the maze, my heart rate increasing as I took her in. Her sheaf of silky, rich brown hair, her wide brown eyes that reminded me of the most delicious hot chocolate that Splinter made when he was feeling generous—deep, dark, and so delectable. Her pretty, pretty face dusted with delicate freckles. Her plush lips were parted, her breaths coming hard and fast, her hands clasped against her chest as she took in the surrounding darkness. She was barely covered—only a black leotard and ballet shoes, her usual uniform when she practiced with the troupe.

I'd grown up in the cirque, surrounded by beautiful, intriguing people, and yet no one had ever caught my attention like she had.

J oining the other cirque members in the circle marked out in the dirt, all of us masked and ready, I ran my gaze over the bound, gagged woman in the centre. Mid-brown hair, unassuming, anywhere between fifty and sixty in age, she could be anyone on the street. But there was a reason she was here.

Judge and Vivienne recounted the list of the woman's crimes, ignoring her muffled cries and struggles. This woman was our Chosen tonight, and she was here to face up to everything she'd done. Lying, embezzling, falsifying reports. Neglecting and starving her charges. And worst of all, sustained abuse of the children she'd been entrusted to care for, to the point where a little boy we'd heard about on the grapevine had been teetering on the brink of death.

We got there too late to save him.

Nothing could shock me anymore. We'd seen some of the most depraved parts of humanity and meted out justice.

But this time, it was different. Peeking out from behind Vivienne was a girl. Dirty, pale, all stringy brown hair and the hugest eyes I'd ever seen, she'd clung to Vivienne like she was the only thing tethering her to earth.

As the knife sliced into the woman's throat, silencing her cries for good, the girl closed her eyes, a single tear trembling on her lashes, before it fell to the ground. My breath caught in my throat, and I clenched my fists, ripping my gaze away in an attempt to avoid the sudden, shocking need to cross the circle and wrap her in my arms.

I found out later that the girl's name was Wren, and the woman had been her guardian. She was seventeen, three days shy of turning eighteen, and the fact that she was only a few months younger than me cut me to the core. Our lives couldn't have been more different. Why were some people dealt such an awful hand in life? Why did these sick monsters exist?

Wren joined our troupe of trapeze artists, and we gradually got to know each other. That downtrodden, fragile girl blossomed into a woman who bore no resemblance to her past self on the surface, although there was still a fragility lurking beneath. But she was strong. She never let her fragility overwhelm her. I was so proud of her—we all were. She was a part of the cirque family, and we'd all do anything for each other.

But there was something more. I couldn't stop thinking about her. Couldn't stop noticing her. Wherever she was, I wanted to be. Something about her drew me like a moth to a flame.

It was an obsession I didn't understand.

She was on my mind. Always.

Never before had someone captured my attention so fucking effortlessly, and she didn't even know the effect she had on me.

Or did she? Did she only see me as a friend? Did she feel that same ache I did, deep within her soul?

I had to know.

It was time to find out.