“Everyone ready?” Arryn asks. Seeing our determined faces, she strides forward with purpose and says, “Then let’s go.”

CHAPTER FOUR

It’s after midnight, so Luna Park has long since closed, the moon overhead offering limited light for our path through the entrance. Even that task is only managed because I’m able to Speak the doors open for us—and it takes everything within me not to send a smug look toward Arryn and ask how she’d planned to get in without me being here. Perhaps it only counts as “showing off” if I do something without first asking permission.

Walking deeper into the park is a surreal experience. I’ve been here before, but I was so young that I have to strain my memory for the details. I remember it being loud—lots of music and screaming and laughing. I was here in the daytime, the sun bright and hot, and there were people everywhere. The air smelled of hot chips and pizza. I ate pink fairy floss, rainbow popcorn, and toffee apples, my fingers becoming sticky and my teeth numb from the overload of sugar.

The farther in we walk, the more the memories come. I was here with my parents. My dad took me on the bumper cars, but I didn’t like the jarring feeling that came when we hit the others, so I made him keep us safely wedged in the corner until our time was up. When we ventured into Sideshow Alley, my mum helped me place small plastic balls in the moving mouth of a sculpted white-faced clown, and we won a stuffed unicorn whose eye fell out before we left the park. I was too little to go on the roller coaster, but I was obsessed with the carousel. The vibrant lights, cheery music, and painted horses delighted me to no end—it was the only part of the day that I recall enjoying. I begged my parents to let me go back for a second and third ride, each time choosing a different colored horse.

“This doesn’t feel right,” whispers Arryn, drawing my gaze from the carousel that now sits dark and silent as we walk past. Seeing it again in real life, my memory tugs at me, as if I have a deeper emotional connection to it than I can remember. But the details stay just out of reach, my recollection having faded over the years.

“I agree,” Kael murmurs, his eyes narrowed and alert. “It’s too … quiet.”

“Of course it’s quiet,” says Keeda dryly. “It’s the middle of the night and this place is like a ghost town. The breakout is obviously hiding. We’ll have a better chance of finding them if we split up.”

Pandora jumps in, “And we’ll cover more ground, faster.”

“It doesn’t look like Lengard is here,” Keeda adds. “But we don’t want to stay longer than we have to, just in case.”

Throughout all of this, we’re still inching forward, peering into the darkness for any signs of movement. It’s difficult to detect anything. Impossible, even, given the shadows created by the moonlight. There are so many buildings and rides bordering the main laneway. This park is the perfect place for someone who is unsure of what is happening to them, for someone scared of being caught, for someone who wants to hide. They could be watching us right now and we wouldn’t know. They probably are watching us. That’s what I’d be doing.