Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 20554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
But the intensity of it all—our performance, the kiss, the conflicting emotions—becomes too much. I pull away, breathless and overwhelmed, my mind a chaotic swirl of desire and doubt.
“I need to go,” I say, my voice barely audible over the lingering applause as the quiet of my caravan calls to me.
Marcus’s eyes search mine, confusion and hurt flickering in their depths. But he nods, letting me go, respecting the distance I suddenly crave.
I turn and make my way out of the tent, my steps quick and unsteady. The cool night air hits me as I exit, a stark contrast to the heat and chaos inside. I head straight for my caravan, needing the sanctuary of solitude to process everything. Once inside, I collapse onto the bed, my mind replaying the events of the night. The performance, Marcus’s unease, our kiss—it all loops in my head, a tangled web of emotions and questions. I close my eyes, willing myself to calm down, to find some clarity in the midst of the storm.
But clarity eludes me, replaced by the persistent hum of doubt and the undeniable pull I feel toward Marcus. The intensity of my feelings for him scares me, as does the suspicion that something more lies beneath his charming exterior. As sleep finally takes me, I know that tomorrow will bring more questions, more complications. And I’m not sure if I’m ready for the answers.
Chapter Four
Marcus
The midday sun filters through the colorful tents, casting a playful dance of shadows on the circus grounds. The air is thick with the scent of popcorn, cotton candy, and anticipation. I’m deep in conversation with Alex, one of the fire-breathers, discussing the logistics of our upcoming performance.
“Let’s talk more later about the artifact you’re searching for. Right now I have to focus on the lighting. I promise we can talk more later though. Last night’s performance made me realize that I think we should move the spotlight to the left,” Alex insists, his arms crossing in a defiant stance. “It’ll highlight the final illusion perfectly.”
I’m about to counter when I catch sight of Clara out of the corner of my eye. She’s lingering near one of the tents, her expression a mix of concentration and something darker. Curiosity, maybe? Betrayal? It’s hard to tell from this distance, but there’s a tension in her posture that sends a chill down my spine.
“Fine, we’ll try it your way,” I concede to Alex, my attention now fully on Clara. As Alex walks away, I make my way toward my caravan, feeling the weight of Clara’s gaze follow me. There’s an electric charge in the air, an impending storm of confrontation.
Inside my tent, I start organizing the few artifacts I’ve found so far scattered across my workspace. The familiar routine should calm me, but today it only amplifies my unease. The door of my caravan opens, and Clara steps inside, her presence commanding and unyielding.
“Marcus, can we talk?” she says, her voice laced with urgency.
I look up, meeting her intense gaze. “Sure. What’s going on, Clara?”
“I overheard you talking to Alex a few minutes ago,” she begins, her eyes narrowing. “You’re searching for something within the circus. Something important…”
“Yes?” I utter, concerned that she’s picked up on so much already.
“I think you need my empathic abilities to find it.”
Her words hang in the air, heavy and accusatory. I can feel her emotions swirling—a turbulent mix of betrayal and curiosity. I set down the artifact in my hands, my mind racing. This moment was inevitable, but I still feel unprepared.
“Clara, it’s not what you think,” I say, but the lie feels weak even as it leaves my lips. The truth is I’m not sure what she’s thinking, but I know I’m not ready to reveal everything just yet.
“Don’t lie to me, Marcus,” she says, stepping closer. “I’d like the truth.”
Her demand cuts through my defenses. I see the fire in her eyes, the same fire that drew me to her in the first place. I take a deep breath, knowing I can’t hide from this any longer.
“Alright,” I say, my voice steadying. “You deserve the truth.”
I motion for her to sit, and we both settle onto the cushions strewn across the floor of my caravan. The atmosphere is charged, every breath we take filled with unspoken questions.
“I’m searching for an artifact,” I begin, choosing my words carefully. “It’s something my parents were investigating before they died. They believed it held immense power, power that could either free someone from their past or destroy them.”
Clara’s eyes widen. I can feel her empathic abilities working, sensing the depth of my emotions—my guilt, my fear, my desperate need for redemption. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure.” My eyes slide to the table of items. “But I’ll know it when I see it.”
Clara’s silence is deafening. I watch her, waiting for her response, feeling the weight of my confession settle between us.