Because the violin and its beautiful music belong only to him.
Vas stands in the center of the ring, surrounded by over a hundred empty chairs. The lights above him are dimmed. Moody. And he’s facing away from me, his dark wooden instrument tucked under his chin.
I watch his fingers dance across the strings, vibrating when he holds the long notes that make my heart ache.
I feel myself swaying without really thinking, and I realize it reminds me of when I was a child hanging out in Dad’s office.
He was always practicing—always writing something new. And usually he was fine with me listening, as long as listening was all I did. Under no circumstances was I ever meant to make a sound.
But I stayed anyway, because Dad’s music was beautiful. Is beautiful.
And I stole the thing that means the most to him to trade it for the thing that means the most to me.
I wish there were a way to make that sound less selfish.
How much longer will it take for Dad to realize I broke his heart?
Regret tethers itself to my heart, spilling through my veins like Venom taking over Spider-Man. I don’t want to let it in. I can’t—not when I’ve risked so much to get here. I need to see this through. I need to prove myself before I make sense of what I’ve done to my parents.
But the music rips through me anyway, and all I can see is Dad in his office, smiling at his little girl.
I blink, tearing myself away from Vas and his violin before he has a chance to realize I’m there.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As the afternoon wears on, it becomes more and more apparent that people are avoiding me. They’re not outright rude about it, which I guess is nice. But they either avert their eyes or pretend they don’t see me at all.
This morning I asked one of the magicians if they’d seen Dexi, and they got so flustered I spoke to them that they turned around midway through their answer and walked off.
It feels unfair. Like maybe what I did doesn’t deserve this kind of reaction. At least not from strangers who don’t even know me.
But even though this isn’t the fresh start I imagined, the battered piece of hope that’s tethered to my heart urges me to keep going. To adapt.
I can’t force people to like me. But maybe if I keep myself busy enough, I’ll stop noticing when they don’t.
I spend a lot of time wandering around, trying to get used to the layout of this place, and to understand how it works—what the rules are—so I can avoid ignorantly stepping on any toes. But most of the performers are on such a strict rehearsal schedule that not having anything to do makes me feel even more out of place.
I’m like one of those betta fish, stuck in a tiny container, watching all the other fish across the aisle swimming in a big aquarium. An outsider with a bad reputation. A fish, but not one of the fish.
What I want more than anything right now is just to feel like I have somewhere to be.
So when I check the schedule and see that Vivien is in the rehearsal tent, an overpowering amount of relief floods through me. I know we’re not best friends or anything, but Vivien and Dexi are the only people who make me feel like there’s still a chance things might change. Like there’s still a chance I might one day join the other fish.
Vivien is in the middle of her act, smiling to an imaginary crowd with a blindfold over her eyes. Her dark braids are tied back with a thin scarf, and she’s wearing a purple tank top and black leggings. The glint of a silver blade peeks through between each of her fingers like she’s a menacing, clawed creature out of a horror movie. She throws one, two, three knives at her target board, hitting a trio of colorful balloons that pop beneath each blade. Then four, five, six, pop, pop, pop.
It’s enthralling to watch her, the way her body moves like a cat prowling through the grass. She’s strong, and subtle, and so very deadly. She’s juggling a new set of knives a moment later, the board of balloons now spinning. It’s hypnotic. She’s hypnotic. She turns and throws, turns and throws, turns and throws—everything is moving faster and faster, like a chase scene nearing