The Big Top is empty now, hours after the last performance. The stands are dark, the trapeze swinging slightly in some invisible draft. A single lantern burns at the center ring, casting long, wavering shadows across the dirt floor.

There's movement near the curtained tunnel that leads to the performers' caravans. A figure, slight and graceful, steps into the dim light.

Behind her, beyond the slit in the canvas, a taller shadow flickers at the mouth of the tunnel. Still. Watching. The faintest glint of gold in the dark.