Ronald counted the visitors who walked out of his funhouse without a second glance. Seventeen so far today. They'd blinked at the mirrors, crossed the rope bridge, and shuffled through the strobes like they were checking items off a list. No one stopped to tell their friends. No one came back through a second time. He wanted to create something people would remember for weeks, something they'd describe to strangers at dinner parties. Instead, he ran the same tired attraction as every other carnival on the circuit. A man appeared at closing time, dragging something massive behind his truck. He had the worn look of someone who'd been fired from better jobs than this. The apparatus he hauled was enormous, shaped like a glowing heart with metal ribs curving around empty air. Rust spotted the frame, but the core still pulsed with faint orange light. The man said his name didn't matter anymore, that he'd run the biggest show in three states until this trick destroyed it. People had talked about it for months, he said. They'd driven hundreds of miles just to see it again. Then something went wrong, and the owners shut him down within a week. He offered it to Ronald for almost nothing. Ronald stared at the heart-shaped frame and felt his pulse quicken. This was exactly what he needed, or exactly what would ruin him.