EPILOGUE — The Light We Keep
Night settles over Wonderhouse like velvet dipped in warm gold.
Not the old nights—where lanterns flickered with hunger and performers whispered fears into the dark. This night is soft. This night is full.
I drift through the center of the camp, my glow a steady, pulsing white-gold that illuminates the faces of everyone I pass. I am no longer a girl who catches light; I am the light. I don’t just watch the Joys of others anymore—I feel them as they rise, soft and warm, like the hum of a distant song.
I find Milo sitting on the steps of the main wagon. He isn't hollow anymore. He sits with his eyes closed, listening to the laughter coming from the cook-tent. Above him, a constant, gentle spark remains—a soft amber glow that never fades, even when he sleeps.
He senses me before I reach him. He always does.
“You’re brighter tonight,” he says, opening his eyes and smiling. It’s a real smile, one that reaches the corners of his eyes and lights up the gold flecks in his pupils.
“The circus is happy,” I whisper, my voice drifting like a bell in the wind. “It makes the light easy to carry.”
Milo reaches out, and I let my light settle into the palm of his hand. There is no jar to hold me now, and no curse to keep us apart. There is only the warmth we give each other—a Joy that doesn’t have to be gathered, because it is always there, blooming between us.
“We did it, Joy,” he murmurs, his fingers closing gently around the edge of my glow.
“We did,” I agree.
The Wonderhouse is no longer a place of stolen moments. It is a place where every spark is kept, every feeling is honored, and no one ever has to be alone in the dark again.
As the last lanterns flicker to sleep, I settle beside him—a light that will never go out, in a circus that finally learned how to love.