Page 6 of Carnival Mayhem

I drift to the side of the entrance, pressing myself against a support pole. People stream past me, their joy a stark contrast to the anxiety churning in my stomach. A group of women sweep by in sequined dresses, their heels clicking against the wooden platform. I shrink further into the shadows.

The tent flap parts and my breath catches. A man emerges, tall and graceful in a way that makes my heart stutter. His mask is simple but elegant, black with silver accents that catch the carnival lights. But it's not the mask that holds my attention—it's how he moves, like every step is part of some intricate dance.

His dark hair falls just right, and even from here I can see the definition in his arms, marked with intricate tattoos that disappear beneath his rolled sleeves. He's beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache.

As if sensing my stare, he turns. Our eyes meet through our masks, and his lips curve into a knowing smile. He winks at me—a simple gesture that sends electricity up my spine.

I press harder against the pole, trying to disappear but can't look away. My cheeks burn beneath my mask, and for a moment I forget about Jake, about Tommy, about everything except those eyes and that smile.

"What are you waiting for, beautiful? It's Christmas—time to have a little fun." As he passes, his voice carries a hint of amusement, disappearing before I can respond.

My heart hammers against my ribs. Beautiful. The endearment feels foreign, dangerous. No one's ever called me that before. Jake and Tommy had other names for me, cruel ones that still echo in my nightmares.

I touch my mask, making sure it's secure. He's right—I came here for a reason. Standing in the shadows won't get me the job I desperately need. But my feet remain rooted to the spot, my fingers digging into the rough wood of the support pole.

The man's words loop in my head.

Have a little fun.

As if it's that simple. As if seven years of survival instincts can be switched off like a light. Despite how baggy it is, my sweater feels too thin and too revealing. I pull the sleeves down over my hands.

But what choice do I have? I can't go back. Not to that house. Not to them. The thought of returning makes bile rise in my throat. At least here, in this sea of masks and music, I have a chance.

I peel myself away from the pole, one small step at a time. The entrance to the tent looms before me, red and gold fabric rippling in the December breeze. Inside, the masquerade ball continues, voices and laughter spilling out into the night.

5

COLT

The winter chill bites through my jacket as I adjust the white skull mask over my face. Our first night in Easthollow is different—there is no show, just the carnival's Christmas masquerade ball. Colored lights dance across the snow, casting shadows between the food stalls and rides.

I scan the crowds, watching families laugh and couples kissing. Then, my eyes snag on a figure standing alone, her thin jacket barely protecting against December's bite. She has a small backpack on her shoulder, which she clutches for dear life.

Her mask is cheap and frayed at the edges, but something about her pulls me in. She holds herself like she's ready to bolt at any moment.

My feet move before my brain catches up. Haven't felt this instant attraction since... well, since Nash.

"That mask's seen better days." I stop beside her, close enough to catch a hint of vanilla. "We've got plenty of spares in the costume tent."

She startles, taking a half-step back. "Oh, I... I'm fine."

"Come on." I gesture toward the back area. "Consider it a Christmas gift. Can't have you wearing that sad thing at our masquerade."

Her fingers trace the edge of her mask. "Why would you?—"

"Because you caught my eye." I lean against the carousel's railing. "And I always take care of what interests me."

She shifts her weight, studying me through those mask holes. Even with most of her face hidden, I can tell she's beautiful. But it's more than that—there's something familiar in how she carries herself, her pain almost palpable.

"I'm Colt." I hold out my hand.

She hesitates before placing her smaller one in mine. "Flora."

Her skin is ice cold. Without thinking, I wrap both my hands around hers. "Jesus, you're freezing. Let's get you that mask and maybe some hot chocolate after?"

I guide Flora toward the costume tent, keeping enough distance so she won't feel crowded. With each step, I notice how she tracks my movements from the corner of her eye, like prey watching a predator.

"Here we are." I open the tent flap, letting her choose whether to enter first. She pauses, then slips inside.

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