Misty keeps the deck straight and the troupe steadier. Loyal first, dazzling second—though her hands say otherwise. The cards whisper, the scarf vanishes, and the crowd thinks it’s cleverness. Misty wants more than clever.
She believes in craft until the seam becomes a threshold—practice so precise it starts to look like power. Not hiding, not hunted, but hungry: for a trick that tips into real magic, for a friend safe enough to stay, for a stage that finally matches the size of her heart.