Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

A lex

I stand just outside the main tent, watching the chaos unfold around me. The circus has always been a wild, untamable beast, but now, with every missing animal, the tension inside the tent thickens, tightening its grip on everyone like a vice. The performers, the crew, even the clowns—there’s a paranoia in their eyes that wasn’t there before. They’re looking at each other with suspicion, with fear. The air is thick, not just with the smell of sawdust and sweat, but with desperation. Everyone’s trying to figure out who’s next to disappear. And it’s only a matter of time before this place crumbles.

I keep my distance, leaning against a stack of crates, scanning the grounds. My mind isn’t on the circus itself—it’s on the animals, on who’s taking them, and why we’re always two steps behind. And it’s on Sophia. It always is.

She’s walking toward me now, her expression tight, her body language screaming tension. There’s a haunted look in her eyes, like she hasn’t slept in days. I know the feeling. I push off the crates as she approaches, my pulse quickening like it always does when she’s near.

“Another one’s gone,” she says, her voice clipped, her eyes avoiding mine. She’s barely holding it together, but Sophia’s never been one to show cracks easily. “It’s getting worse.”

I nod, though it’s not like she needs my confirmation. We both know the truth. It’s spiraling out of control. “The leopard?” I ask.

She swallows hard, and that’s all the confirmation I need. The knot in my gut tightens. It’s not just about the missing animals anymore—it’s about time. Every second we waste, every step we fall behind, means more loss. And we’re running out of both.

“I can’t—I can’t lose Zeus, Alex,” she says, and for the first time, her voice falters. “If he’s next…”

She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t need to. I can see it in her eyes, in the way she wraps her arms around herself like she’s trying to hold herself together. She’s terrified. Not just for the circus, but for him. Zeus isn’t just an animal to her—he’s everything. I’ve always known that, but seeing the fear etched across her face now makes it real in a way that twists my chest.

“He won’t be,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, trying to offer something—anything—that will make her believe we can stop this. “We won’t let it get that far.”

But even as I say the words, I can feel the weight of the lie in them. We don’t know how close we are to stopping this. The threats, the missing animals, the danger—it’s closing in, faster than we can keep up. And Sophia’s unraveling. I can see it in the way she’s struggling to keep her composure, to stay strong.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she snaps, finally meeting my eyes, her gaze sharp, almost angry. But it’s not anger—it’s fear. She’s trying to push me away again, trying to build those walls higher, but we’re in too deep now. Neither of us can do this alone, and she knows it.

I step closer, ignoring the distance she’s trying to put between us. “We’ll figure it out,” I say, my voice softer now. “But we have to work together.”

She lets out a harsh breath, her gaze flicking away from me. “We are working together.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head slightly. “You’re barely letting me in.”

Her jaw clenches, and she looks like she’s about to snap back, but instead, she drops her shoulders, the fight draining out of her. “This isn’t easy for me, Alex. None of this is.”

“I know,” I say, my voice low. “But we need each other if we’re going to stop this. You know that.”

She goes quiet for a long moment, and I can see the internal battle waging inside her. She’s never been one to rely on anyone else, and after what happened between us, I can’t blame her for wanting to keep me at arm’s length. But the walls she’s built are starting to crack, whether she wants to admit it or not.

Finally, she looks back at me, her eyes softer, but still guarded. “Fine. But this is about the animals, Alex. It’s not about us.”

I want to argue, to tell her that it’s always been about more than the animals. That it’s about her, too. About everything we’ve been through and the connection we both know is still there. But I bite back the words. Now isn’t the time.

“Agreed,” I say, though the unspoken words hang heavy in the air between us. For now.

The tension between us hasn’t disappeared, but there’s a shift, a reluctant acceptance that we’re stuck with each other in this. We’re both fighting the same battle, even if we’re doing it for different reasons. And as much as I want to break down the walls she’s built around herself, I know better than to push. Not now. Not when she’s barely holding it together.

“We need to make a plan,” she says, her voice more controlled now. “We can’t keep reacting. We need to get ahead of whoever’s doing this.”

I nod, grateful that she’s focusing on the problem again. “Agreed. I’ve been looking into the pattern of the disappearances, trying to figure out where they might strike next.”

She watches me carefully, and I can see the doubt in her eyes, but there’s something else there too. Trust, tentative and fragile, but there. She’s letting me in, just a little. And for now, that’s enough.

As we stand there, side by side, I can feel the weight of the circus pressing down on us, the animals, the fear, the ticking clock of whatever danger is closing in. We’re running out of time, but for the first time in a while, I don’t feel like we’re completely alone in this fight.

Sophia lets out a long breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Alright, Alex. Let’s figure this out.”

There’s no turning back now.