Leonard Voss—Zhang Lu wearing his life like a borrowed coat—stared into the fogged mirror as water dripped from his chin.
The face looking back still didn't feel like his.
Silver hair clung damply to sharp cheekbones. Pale skin. Eyes the color of frozen starlight. But beneath that unfamiliar beauty, the gaze was his—strained, alert, carrying the quiet panic of someone who had seen the curtain pulled back and didn't like what waited behind it.
He cupped another handful of cold water and splashed his face hard enough to sting.
Stay calm.
If he didn't, the siblings would notice. And once they did, the questions would start.
Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?
What's wrong with you today, Leo?
He couldn't tell them about crimson smoke bleeding from reality. About the hallway that shouldn't exist. About the towering nightmare that had smiled and called herself Mommy.
No escape from me.
Midnight's whisper still coiled around his thoughts. And the purple envelope burned like a coal in his inner pocket—unopened, impatient.
Leonard splashed his face again. Water ran down his neck, soaking the collar of his academy jacket. The bathroom was small and cracked and smelled faintly of mildew—a fragile island of normalcy in a world that had just tried to swallow him whole.
This place was home.
Memories stirred unbidden—scrubbing these tiles as a child, Orion splashing him during bath-time "wars," Astoria scolding them both like a miniature tyrant. Warm. Real.
He dried his face with a threadbare towel, straightened his posture, and smoothed his silver hair back.
"You've got this," he murmured to the mirror. "Be Leonard."
One last breath.
He opened the door.
The apartment greeted him with quiet chaos.
Sunlight slanted through grimy windows, painting warm gold across faded rugs and mismatched furniture. Yellowed star charts cluttered the walls—Leonard's old obsession, carefully maintained despite everything else falling apart.
Lowtown pressed in around them, but inside this cramped nest, life endured.
Orion Voss was sprawled across the sagging couch, all long limbs and irrepressible attitude. Fifteen years old, freckled, with wild reddish-orange hair and sharp emerald eyes that glittered with mischief. He wore loose cream-colored robes embroidered with golden vines—academy castoffs tailored roughly to fit—and a finely crafted longbow rested casually against the couch like it belonged there.
Orion glanced up and smirked.
"Well, well. The prodigal scholar returns." His boot dangled lazily over the couch arm. "Rough night, pretty boy? You look like you tried to arm-wrestle a shadow wraith and lost."
Leonard forced a half-smile. "Something like that. Academy ran late."
"Uh-huh." Orion leaned back. "Let me guess—locked in the archive again while the rest of us starve. Any chance you brought food? Or are we eating your star charts tonight?"
Leonard crossed to the kitchen nook and grabbed a stale heel of bread, more for something to hold than to eat. "Stipend comes next week. We'll manage."
Orion snorted. "That's what you said last month. And the one before." His grin sharpened. "Face it, Leo. Your fancy magic school isn't paying off. I should teach you real skills. Like lifting a purse without getting caught."
Leonard shot him a look. "And end up in a Dark Castle cell?"
Orion laughed—bright, careless, hiding worry behind humor. "Hey, at least prisoners get fed." His eyes flicked over Leonard. "By the way, your hair's extra princess today. Using starlight conditioner now?"
Despite himself, Leonard smiled. The banter grounded him. Normalcy in a world threatening to unravel.
Then—
"Leo!"
The bedroom door flew open.
Astoria Voss swept in like a storm.
Nineteen, radiant, with platinum hair cascading down her back and eyes that saw far more than she ever let on. She wore simple black clothes—practical, understated—but carried herself with effortless grace.
She crossed the room in three steps and threw her arms around Leonard's neck.
"Home early!" she sang, planting loud kisses on his cheek. "We missed you!"
Leonard froze—then relaxed as Leonard's memories filled the gaps. He patted her back awkwardly. "Missed you too, Tori."
Orion gagged loudly. "Warning next time. I nearly lost my appetite."
Astoria pulled back just long enough to kick Leonard lightly in the knee.
"Ow!"
"For looking like death and hugging like a corpse," she declared. "Loosen up."
Orion chuckled. "She's right."
Leonard rubbed his knee, smiling despite himself. This—this—was real.
"Anyway!" Astoria clapped her hands. "I have a surprise. Don't move."
She vanished back into her room.
Orion raised a brow. "If it's another street festival, I'm charging hazard pay."
Leonard leaned against the counter. "As long as it's not dangerous."
Orion's grin faltered, just slightly. "Market's been weird. People whispering about stars dimming." He studied Leonard. "You hear anything at the academy?"
Leonard's heart stuttered. "Just rumors."
Astoria returned, triumph blazing across her face.
Three ornate tickets fanned out in her hand, gold foil shimmering. A glowing jester symbol pulsed softly—harlequin mask entwined with stars.
"Tickets to the Celestial Circus!" she announced.
A chill slid down Leonard's spine.
A circus.
Public spectacle. Magic. Crowds.
And a jester.
"Where did you get those?" he asked carefully.
Astoria waved him off. "Market raffle. Or delivery. Details."
Orion sat up. "Free food?"
"Yes!"
"Archery contests?"
"Obviously!"
Leonard stared at the symbol. It felt familiar. Midnight's envelope seemed heavier.
"This isn't safe," he said. "Crowds attract trouble."
Astoria's smile wilted. "One night, Leo. Please."
Orion nodded. "We deserve it."
Leonard looked at them—hopeful, united—and sighed.
"Fine. But we stay together."
Astoria squealed. Orion grinned.
Later, alone, Leonard opened the envelope.
One card.
Enjoy the show, darling. Mommy's watching.
The trap had teeth.
The circus glittered at the city's edge—striped tents, floating lanterns, music laced with magic.
Inside the big top, a masked jester raised his arms.
"Welcome," he boomed, "to a tale of falling stars—"
Leonard's pulse thundered.
Above them, faint words shimmered.
THE FAMILY WATCHES THE FOOLS.
Leonard tightened his grip on his seat.
The game had begun.