The golden tent glimmered with lantern light as the troupe gathered for rehearsal. Tonight's drill was different: instead of solo practice, Madame Rosa announced a test of leadership.
"Each rising performer will take charge of a sequence," Rosa declared, her voice sharp as a whip. "The tent must learn who can guide, not only follow. Tonight, Mensah, you will lead."
Gasps rippled through the acrobats. Some smirked. Others exchanged knowing looks. A village girl, a former clown, commanding them? The idea was laughable.
Naki's heart raced, but she stepped forward, chin high. "Yes, Madame."
She mapped the sequence carefully: two aerialists crossing midair, Sky twisting through the ropes to catch them, the jugglers tossing flaming clubs in rhythm. It was daring, but balanced—the kind of act Ofori would have smiled at.
But Bianca, the troupe's star trapeze artist, wasn't smiling. She was Rosa's darling: tall, elegant, her routines flawless. She eyed Naki like a hawk circling prey.
"Is this really the plan?" Bianca drawled as the group gathered on the practice floor. "A clown telling me how to fly?"
"It will work," Naki said firmly. "If we move together, the timing will—"
Bianca cut her off with a sharp laugh. "If you want to impress Rosa, maybe stick to juggling pies. Leave the sky to those born for it."
Laughter trickled from a few veterans. Naki's cheeks burned, but she didn't back down. "I wasn't born for it. I chose it. And tonight, I'll prove it."
The rehearsal began. Naki called the cues, her voice steady despite the whispers. "One… two… leap!"
The aerialists swung, Sky flipped midair, the jugglers launched their flaming clubs. For a moment, everything worked. The golden tent shimmered with brilliance.
But then Bianca deliberately hesitated on her rope. The timing shattered. A juggler dropped his torch, the aerialists collided awkwardly, and Sky barely caught himself. Gasps erupted.
All eyes turned on Naki.
"She ruined it," Bianca said coolly, climbing down. "Told you a clown can't lead."
Naki's throat tightened. She wanted to scream the truth—that Bianca had sabotaged her. But Madame Rosa's gaze was fixed, unreadable, and the troupe's whispers were sharp.
For a long, heavy silence, Naki stood alone in the center of the tent, the shadow of blame cast squarely on her shoulders.
Then Sky dropped lightly beside her, brushing soot off his arm. His voice carried just enough for the others to hear. "Not bad, clown girl. Almost worked—if everyone had actually followed directions."
A few performers shifted uneasily, glancing at Bianca. Rosa's expression flickered, just slightly.
Naki lifted her chin. "We'll run it again," she said firmly, though her chest ached. "This time, no mistakes."
The troupe obeyed, but the shadow lingered. In the golden tent, brilliance was always at risk of being dimmed by jealousy. And tonight, Naki learned that talent alone would not protect her.
She would have to shine so brightly that no shadow—Bianca's or anyone else's—could smother her light.