Page 27

As I step onto the gravel path, two guys come stumbling out from the gap between the livestock barns, reeking of cheap keg beer and funnel cake.

The larger of the two isn’t paying attention as he laughs loudly, swaying on his feet, and he plows his heavy shoulder straight into mine.

“Watch it, dickhead!” he barks, stumbling back from the impact as if he hit a brick wall.

He squares his shoulders, his chest puffing out with drunk bravado as he steps into my space. “You got a problem or⁠—”

I lift my head slowly.

The shadow of my hood falls back just enough for the dim string lights overhead to catch my face.

I don’t say a word. I just stare at him through the gloom, my eyes cold, unblinking, and dead, my thumb locking the steel blade open inside my pocket with a sharp, audible snap.

The guy’s arrogant posture instantly crumbles.

The color drains from his flushed, sweaty face so fast it’s almost comical.

It might be the absolute lack of humanity in my glare, the lethal promise written into the broad, dark width of my shoulders, or maybe the subtle, rhythmic motion inside my front pocket.

His Adam’s apple bobs violently.

“I... uh... my bad, man.” He backs up three quick steps, his hands coming up in a frantic, apologetic gesture. “My bad. Didn’t see you there.”

He pivots and dashes into the darkness, his buddy scurrying after him like a pair of frightened rats.

I watch them go, my fingers tightening around the hilt of my knife until my knuckles burn.

A dark, ugly pulse beats behind my eyes.

He looks just like the arrogant, loud-mouthed bastards who used to shove me into lockers in high school.

The golden boys; the jocks. The ones who thought they owned this town while kids like my best friend and I bled in the shadows.

A heavy, vicious urge claws at the back of my brain, begging me to step into the dark after him. To drag him behind this tractor, open his throat, and remind this town what happens when you push the wrong person too far.

I force a long, agonizing breath out through my nose, shutting the blade inside my pocket with a quiet click.

Not tonight. Tonight isn’t for random trash. Tonight belongs to Harmony.

Returning to the main carnival, I navigate the glowing mist permeating from the mix of heat and fog machines, with a swift, graceful stride. The noise of the carnival has me briefly closing my eyes as a surge of screaming teenagers on the rides, the mechanical clatter of gears, and the smell of burnt sugar and hot oil float through the night.

After thirty minutes of searching—my gaze sweeping over the moving sea of bodies and scanning the bright pinks and blues reflected on the ground—I spot her.

Fifty yards ahead, near the far edge of the boardwalk games, a familiar silhouette cuts through the crowd. Her sweater fully in place, her brown curls slightly disheveled, her head turning frantically as she checks over her shoulder.

Is she looking for me?

I watch her duck past a line of screaming kids and slip through the flashing neon entrance of the Hall of Mirrors.

A dark, cruel laugh bubbles up in my chest.

A mirror maze. She really thinks she can hide in a labyrinth built entirely out of illusions?

I cut through the center, blending seamlessly behind a group of tourists in matching ghost T-shirts, and step through the velvet curtains of the maze entrance without making a sound.

Inside, the world turns into an agonizing kaleidoscope of shifting lights, distorted angles, and endless reflections.

Bright green and purple LED strips line the floor and ceiling, bouncing off dozens of full-length glass panes.