Lorraine led Leroy through narrow, twisting streets until they arrived at her secret study nestled deep within the red-light district.
The air was thick with the last remnants of the night's revelry. As dawn slowly crept across the horizon, the district quieted. Men who had once reveled in lust and drink now slunk back to their homes, some shrouded in cloaks, their faces flushed with shame, as though the dim light of early morning exposed their sins.
From the shadow of a sturdy pillar on the balcony of Lorraine's personal room, Leroy watched the bustling action of the early morning in the red light district.
The space was modest with a desk, a small bed, and countless drawers, each seemingly filled to meticulous order. It was curious to him why Lorraine didn't store these documents deep within her tunnels, safe from prying eyes. Everyone who knew of this place whispered it was her private haven, an odd contradiction for a woman who sought secrecy above all else.
