The soft light of the New Year’s morning filtered through the frosted windows of the Diggory Imaginarium, casting long, golden beams across the stage. The aftermath of the previous night’s revelry was still evident. Empty champagne bottles clustered around the corners, and a few stray streamers hung limply from the rafters. The theatre had hosted a roaring New Year’s Eve faire, and though the crowd had dispersed in the early hours, the smell of celebration lingered.

E.J., still wearing last night’s tailcoat, albeit with a loosened cravat and disheveled hair, stood center stage, his hands on his hips. He was barking orders to a young stagehand sweeping confetti off the aisles. His emerald eyes sparkled, though whether it was from excitement or lingering intoxication was anyone’s guess.

“Mind the spotlights!” E.J. called, gesturing toward the ornate gas lamps lining the stage. “Last thing I need is another bill for shattered glass. And where’s that—”

A sudden shriek of alarm from above cut him off. His head snapped upward, and his mouth fell open in disbelief.

A man—decidedly not part of the troupe—was wobbling precariously on the high wire strung across the stage, bottle of Firewhiskey in one hand and a top hat askew on his head. His gait was unsteady, and the wire wobbled dangerously beneath his weight.

“Oi!” E.J. shouted, his voice booming across the empty theatre. “What do you think you’re doing up there?”
E.J.’s jaw tightened as he resisted the urge to swear. The Imaginarium was his pride and joy, and he wasn’t about to let some drunken fool ruin its reputation—or hurt himself in the process.