The bleeding girl had barely been carried out when the entire mood of the brothel shifted.
The Madam's painted smile faded into something tighter. Her pupils dilated—not in fear, but in recognition. Around us, the dancers froze mid-step. The guards who had moved to flank the room stopped without being told, their hands lifting subtly away from their blades.
Everyone was still, except for one boy.
He appeared without sound, a waif of a thing with wide eyes and robes too big for his limbs. No one had seen him enter. One blink and he was at the Madam's side, whispering something into her ear that made the color drain from her face.
Then he turned toward me.
"The King of Hell will see you now," the boy said, bowing low before vanishing back into the shadows he'd crawled out of.
The Madam swallowed hard. "Second floor. End of the left corridor. Do not touch anything."
I didn't reply. I simply walked.
