Chapter Seventeen
Ian stood at the edge of the scene, his purple eyes glinting with something unreadable—expectation, maybe. Doubt.
“You hide behind the laughter,” Ian said, his voice calm but cutting. “It’s easy, isn’t it? Easy to pretend you don’t feel the weight. Easy to mask the fear with jokes.”
Mango swallowed hard, her fingers twitching at her sides. “I don’t—” she stopped herself, biting her tongue. This was her trial. Dodging the truth wasn’t going to get her out.
She looked up, searching Ian’s gaze for something—anything—to hold onto. “So what, Ian?” she asked, her voice softer now, vulnerable in a way she hated. “Are you saying it’s not enough? That I’m not enough?”
Ian’s smirk faded slightly, replaced by something quieter, heavier. “I’m saying you don’t believe it’s enough. And that’s why you’re afraid.”
Mango exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I keep us together,” she said, almost desperately. “That has to mean something.”
Ian stepped closer, the flickering carnival lights casting eerie shadows over his sharp features. “Then prove it,” he murmured. “Stop hiding. Say what you really want to say.”
Mango’s throat tightened, the weight of the moment pressing against her ribs like a vice. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to meet Ian’s gaze head-on.
“I don’t just keep them together,” she whispered, her voice raw, unguarded. “I keep you together, too. And I won’t stop. No matter where you are—no matter what happened—I’ll find you.”
The air around them shifted. The frozen figures flickered, their judgment softening, the energy in the space humming with quiet recognition. Ian’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes did—a flicker of something real.
Mango took a step forward, reaching out—not just with words, but with everything she was. “You haven’t lost me, Ian,” she said. “And I haven’t lost you.”
For a brief moment, Ian hesitated. And then, his voice softer than before.
The carnival flickered again, the shadows deepening, the colors dulling. Ian’s gaze remained sharp, unyielding, as he stepped back, his presence shifting like the very fabric of this world.
“You say you’ll find me,” Ian murmured. “You say you keep everyone together. But are you willing to let them see you?”
Mango stiffened slightly, her fingers twitching at her sides. “They see me.”
Ian’s smirk returned—small, biting. “No, Mango. They see the version of you that never falters, never breaks. The entertainer. The fun one. The glue. But what happens when the glue cracks?”
The carnival trembled, and the frozen figures of her friends shifted again—two distinct paths forming. To her left, she saw herself alone, still laughing, still bright, but distant. Always keeping the group together without ever letting them hold her. The image was familiar. Safe.
To her right, the vision changed—her friends surrounding her, their hands reaching out, their voices warm, welcoming. This version of herself wasn’t just the fun one. She was part of them, fully, truthfully. She was vulnerable. She was seen.
Ian stepped between the paths, his purple eyes locking onto hers. “This is your choice. Keep the mask. Stay the lighthearted one, untouchable. Or let them in. Let them hold you the way you hold them.”
Mango’s breath caught. The storm pressing down on her chest grew heavier. She had never let herself linger on this choice—not like this.
The left path was easier. Familiar. No risk.
The right path was terrifying.
The carnival lights flickered violently, pushing her toward the inevitable. Ian’s gaze didn’t waver.
“Decide, Mango.”
Mango’s pulse pounded. She had spent her life being the one who laughed first, who broke the tension, who lifted others before they ever thought to lift her. But now, as she stood here, staring down the truth—she knew.
She couldn’t carry it alone anymore.
She exhaled slowly, lifting her chin, letting the fear settle before she spoke. “I choose them.”
The carnival pulsed, shifting, breaking apart. The figures of her friends flickered—but this time, instead of vanishing, they stepped forward, their presence steady, real. She wasn’t alone.
Ian held her gaze for a long moment before finally speaking—softer now, approving. “Good,” he murmured. “Then find me.” The carnival dissolved completely, replaced by the chamber. Mango stood before her stone, its inscriptions glowing with deep, golden warmth, reflecting her choice. She pressed her palm against it, whispering her promise. “I’ll find you, Ian. And I’ll make this right.”
She stepped back, and something in the chamber shifted—the hum of energy growing stronger. They were close. The reunion was near.
The energy surrounding Beans’ stone was different—quieter, softer, but no less powerful. The chamber dissolved, replaced by a vast, empty hall lined with tall mirrors stretching endlessly in both directions. The reflections within them shimmered, twisting faintly, but none of them looked quite right.
Beans hesitated, her emerald eyes flickering as she turned slowly, scanning the silent space. Unlike Mango’s carnival, this place felt hollow. Too still. Too expectant.
Then, behind her, a figure stepped into view—Ian.
He wasn’t smiling this time. His purple gaze was calm, piercing, unreadable.
“You let her shine,” he murmured, his voice carrying through the hall like a whisper of truth. “You let Mango stand in the light, while you stay in the background.”
Beans stiffened slightly, folding her arms. “I’m not in the background.”
Ian raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Aren’t you? Everyone knows Mango. Her energy, her presence, her voice—it fills every room. And you? You stand beside her. But when have you ever stepped forward?”
Beans clenched her jaw, her heart beating a little faster. “It’s not about stepping forward. It’s about knowing when I’m needed.”
Ian gestured toward the mirrors, their surfaces shifting, distorting. They reflected versions of her—some fading into the background, some barely visible, some looking lost. “And what happens when they don’t see you?” Ian asked quietly. “When the moment comes, and they don’t realize you’re the one they need?”
The weight of his words settled heavily in the space between them. This was Beans’ trial—to prove that she wasn’t just a shadow to Mango, that her presence mattered, that she could step forward when it counted.
The mirrors shimmered as Ian’s words echoed in the vast, empty hall. Beans looked at the shifting reflections, her throat tightening as each one twisted into something more unsettling. Versions of her flickered past—some blurred, some fading altogether, barely distinguishable from the shadows around them.