Luminaria's tent had sprung up on the former shipyard like a candle among the rusty cranes. Lena ran the cables over the wet planks, pretending it was just a simple rehearsal. In fact, her hands were itching from the desire to climb the cable, if only for a minute. Her brother Niko used to walk it like a path until he suddenly stopped performing. Since that autumn, Lena has kept to the backstage, practising her juggling and breathing at night. The director, Madame Vega, called the crew together and announced a late show called Invisible Numbers. The posters were empty until the light from the ramps illuminated them, as if they were waking up slowly. The star was to be the Faceless Illusionist, a new number with mirrors, shadows and silence. The artists whispered that his mask reflected his thoughts, not just the faces of the audience. Lena laughed at the rumours, but took the post by the mirror maze with seriousness. As she slipped between the frames, the glass was covered with a web of frost in geometric, impossible patterns. The reflection blinked a fraction of a second too late and then whispered her name, clearly. She felt a ribbon under the bottom slat, and under the ribbon was a brass star with a notch. On the back someone had scratched out Reserve: top rope, like an instruction to the trusted. Before she could ask anyone, the maze hissed and the light reflected red. The test sprinkled like confetti: drones hovered, the rope trembled and a veil covered the central cage. The inscriptions proclaimed Swallowed Night, a number only opened by the holder of a star key. Madame Vega cursed in a whisper, for without it, the cash register would not spin to anyone. Lena squeezed her pocket as the Illusionist stood beside her, with a mirror instead of a face. 'Did you lose something, Lena? - He asked softly, as if he was speaking with her reflection, not his mouth. He invited her to join him as a Seer, promising silence, a bonus and complete discretion. Midnight came in a blue light, the audience rippled in whispers and the drums beat evenly like a heart. Lena crouched beneath the arena, feeling the brass star warm her hand like fresh coins. There was a clatter from the curtained cage, and then a voice she hadn't heard for months. 'Don't come in, please,' it whispered, identical to Nika's voice, only completely breathless. The illusionist counted down to three, the lights dimmed and Lena slid the key into the star notch. The lock turned with a click, the veil lifted by a finger, and the voice called out louder. Lena blinked as, in the same second, the echo quietly added: if you open it, we'll swap places.