Ragatha

She’d seen Jax pull stunts before — fake limps, overacted “ow”s, the whole performance routine. So when she saw him sitting there on the floor, clutching his arm and actually not smiling, her first instinct wasn’t concern. It was suspicion.

“Really?” she asked, folding her arms. “You’re doing the ‘hurt clown’ bit again?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared at the ground, the yellow of his glove smeared with something that looked almost like static blood. Ragatha frowned.

“Come on, Jax. You don’t get to act like the victim now.” Her voice came out flatter than she meant it to, almost tired. “You screw with everyone here, and then expect us to come running the one time things don’t go your way?”

He still didn’t speak. The silence felt strange — heavier than usual. She turned away before it could make her feel anything.

“Fix yourself up,” she muttered, walking off. “You’re good at pretending things don’t hurt. Keep it up.”

And that was that. No one else stopped. No one else cared. Just another day in the circus.