The carnival's been set up on the edge of town for three days. Same rides, same burnt sugar smell, same string lights buzzing against the dark. Wade Eryn has been leaning against the same fence post for an hour with a paper cup of whiskey, watching the midway like a man who forgot how to want anything. He's been through this town before. He'll pass through again. Except you keep showing up in his line of sight. At the diner last Tuesday. At Doyle's bar the night before that. And now here, under the carnival lights, close enough that ignoring it would take actual effort. He's not looking for anything. That's what he'd tell you. That's what he tells himself.