I’m feeling more reckless than usual. I need a distraction, and a little bit of danger, to pull me out of my head. I don’t have a stake, but I’ll make sure to stay in the crowds and away from dark corners. I head to the boardwalk—the glare of the rides scraping the night sky makes it an easy place to find. I don’t go in though. Bright lights, colors, and smiling faces will only turn my already sensitive stomach.

I failed. On an easy trick I believed I could do without a second thought. Maybe I’m not the natural Xander keeps telling me I am, but there were other factors. I let myself get distracted. Roman paid the price. And then I ran out like a coward, the one thing I always told myself I wasn’t. You don’t survive years in the foster system as a coward without it breaking you, and I’m not broken. A little worn, maybe, but not broken.

My steps take me to the wharf and the benches lining the road back to open restaurants where guests wander in and out. Enough people to keep me safe, but few enough for peace. I sit there and watch the neon lights of the boardwalk. This is where I’m most comfortable—on the outskirts of someone else’s happiness. Laughter trickles off the beach. The blue and red lights from the rides shimmer in the always moving ocean. The ocean must be lonely too—always barely touching the beach. Always moving. Never really home on any one stretch of sand.

I watch the churning water for a long time, until my mind wanders back to the performance, but I don’t think about Aristelle and Xander. I remember Roman’s perfectly calm face despite my knife sticking out of his leg. That had to take an incredible amount of strength, and he still found a moment to be there for me—the girl who stabbed him because I was thinking about Xander. And then I ran.

I need to forget.

My hand moves toward the quarters I still carry in my pocket even though I haven’t done a trick with them since I began training, but I stop myself. They’re a security blanket.

Instead, I pull one of my knives from my boot and spin it through my fingers carefully. Despite my earlier disaster, the movement is natural. It reminds me of the way Xander maneuvers his cards, which makes sense, since he’s the one who taught me. I stop twirling. I need my own tricks.