By now, after months working there, it had become second nature for Walkyria to stay alert, her eyes constantly scanning the brothel. The place wasn’t large. The main hall had a few small tables and a couple of couch-beds, draped with curtains that were more decorative than functional. That was where the big shots usually lounged, basking in attention and indulgence.

  That area served mostly as an entry point. Beyond it stretched a narrow corridor with six regular rooms, three on each side, and at the far end, the so-called King’s Room. True to its name, it had its own set of peculiarities.

  Few had used it since Walkyria started working there. And though the clients wore masks, they were more ornament than disguise. She could recognize every one of them by now. Most were older men, Shrouded elites who came here to prove they were just as filthy as everyone else.

  Occasionally, younger Shrouded showed up; bachelor parties, or simply men looking to gorge themselves on excess for one night without consequence. There was a bit of everything in that haze of red light and smoke.

  And tonight, seemed no different.

  A group of three men entered. One of them, noticeably older, heavyset, and sweating even in the dim light, made Walkyria grimace unconsciously. She poured a drink a little too forcefully, foam spilling over the rim as she wondered which of the girls would have the courage, or guts, to approach him.

  She watched from behind the bar, where she’d been assigned to handle drinks that night. Even from there, nothing escaped her sharp gaze.

  “That kind of face doesn’t suit a bartender.” a low voice said behind her. “You’ll scare off the customers.”

  Her body stiffened instantly. She turned, scanning along the bar until she found the source. Pale, glacial blue eyes locked on hers.

  Cold yet vividly alive.

  She forced a smile, an automatic, silent apology. She knew she’d slipped, and his comment, if repeated, could get her in trouble. Fortunately, her coworker seemed more distracted, or rather, tense, by the sight of the men who had just come in.

  The two younger ones had already settled at a table, each surrounded by two girls. But what caught both Walkyria’s and her coworker’s attention was that the older, disgusting one had chosen to sit with not one woman, but with a woman and Luna.

  The sight was nauseating.

  Walkyria knew about the unspoken agreement between Luna and Bárbara — the limits, the names crossed off, the bodies refused. Luna was too valuable in that place, and Bárbara knew it. She made concessions she wouldn’t make for anyone else just to avoid losing her rarest jewel.

  Still, it didn’t stop the nausea from creeping in.

  On one of the nights when the two of them shared what little silence they were allowed — knitting together complaints about clients, bad drinks, and a routine that stubbornly refused to change — Luna mentioned it almost the way someone might comment on the weather.

  “I got another marriage proposal today.”

  She brushed her hair with methodical care, as if the statement carried no weight at all. Then she turned to look at Walkyria, who had gone completely still, nail polish brush suspended midair.

  Luna laughed, always amused by her friend’s stunned expression.

  “This one was a senator’s son.”

  “The tall guy?” Walkyria asked, still incredulous, trying not to sound as shocked as she felt. “Blond. Built. That one?”

  Luna’s laughter came easily — far too light for the subject at hand. Walkyria grumbled theatrically as she went back to painting her nails.

  “You enjoy humiliating me, don’t you?” she said, mock-sulking. “I’ll never understand why you’re still here.”

  Luna flopped onto the bed beside her, arms crossed over her stomach, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

  “Everyone has a purpose, Wal...” she murmured. “A plan.”

  “A plan? In a brothel?” Walkyria turned to face her. “You’re gonna have to sell that one a little better.”

  Luna just smiled. A short smile that explained nothing. She rolled onto her side, propping her head up on her hand.

  “Would you take a proposal seriously if it came from someone who hangs around a place like this?”

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  Walkyria sighed and lay down too, mirroring her position.

  “If he were handsome and rich...” she said. “Might still offer a better life than this one.”

  Luna nodded, but she didn’t agree. Her gaze drifted back to the ceiling, distant.

  “I still have work to do here.”

  That was when Walkyria realized it.

  There was no vanity in that sentence. No illusion. There was weight. Something old. Unfinished. Carefully tucked away. She felt the urge to ask — couldn’t shake the uneasy sense that something far too large was hiding beneath all that delicacy.

  But there was no time.

  Luna rose in one fluid motion, her gentle expression sliding back into place like a well-practiced mask.

  “Time to get ready, Wal.”

  Walkyria nodded, capping the nail polish.

  She didn’t say anything.

  The conversation lingered in her mind, echoing — and now, seeing her friend perched in the lap of someone repulsive, it became impossible not to question the real reason behind it all. She couldn’t maintain her neutral mask and grimaced again. This time, her coworker noticed and gave her a sharp nudge.

  “Keep it cool, Wal.” she hissed.

  But it was hard to. Her coworker soon moved toward Luna’s table, leaving Walkyria frozen behind the bar, her fingers tightening around the glass. She wanted to intervene, but how could she justify it? The man wasn’t hurting Luna, not yet. She had no excuse.

  Something flickered in her peripheral vision.

  The man at the bar.

  He was smiling; not mockingly, but sharply, like a blade catching light. The curve of his mouth, the way his eyes tracked her reactions... it was unnerving. Then his gaze drifted lazily from Walkyria to the scene across the room.

  At that exact moment, the fat man yanked Luna closer by the arm, dragging her against his chest. Walkyria saw a slight change in the stranger’s expression, a faint frown, too subtle to read as compassion, but distinct enough to shatter his air of indifference.

  He turned back to her, leaning forward on the bar, those ice-blue eyes fixed on her.

  “Hard to stomach scenes like that, isn’t it?”

  She pressed her lips together, trying to hold onto the professional silence expected of her. But it was stronger than she was.

  “Luna doesn’t deserve that.” she murmured. “None of us do.”

  He rested an elbow on the counter, chin balanced on his hand.

  “What if I told you I could save the damsel in distress?” His tone was low, almost teasing, but there was something too serious beneath it for mere playfulness.

  Walkyria blinked, startled, her heart skipping.

  “And why would you care?”

  He let out a short laugh.

  “Good question. Maybe because I can’t stand men who think the world belongs to them. Maybe because I hate seeing beauty wasted like that.”

  His gaze stayed on her as he spoke.

  “Or maybe...” he added softly, “because I’m curious how far you’d go to protect her.”

  The air between them thinned, tension tightening like a wire. Walkyria couldn’t tell if she should back away or hold his stare. But something about him drew her in. Without realizing, she leaned a little closer.

  “And what exactly do you want in return?” she asked quietly.

  He moved closer too, just enough that only she could hear. His voice cut through the music and laughter like a blade.

  “You.”

  For a moment, she forgot to breathe.

  “...What?”

  His smile widened, slow and deliberate.

  “I don’t take risks without something... interesting in return.”

  Her eyes narrowed, anger flaring through the unease. She glanced briefly toward Luna, forced to endure the slobbering man pawing at her, then back at those icy blue eyes. Her pulse thundered. She wasn’t sure what disturbed her more: the scene itself or the way he seemed to read her every reaction.

  “You don’t even know my name.” she shot back, voice low but steady.

  He smirked faintly.

  “Names are just labels. I prefer to see what’s underneath them.”

  She raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her composure.

  “And what exactly do you think you’ll see?” she challenged. “That I’ve got nothing to give you?”

  He leaned in again, his voice a low rumble meant only for her.

  “Oh, you’ve already given me something. Know what it is? That look.” His chin tilted toward Luna’s table. “Most people here learned to fake it, to stay quiet and survive. But you... you stare it straight in the face.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks.

  “That doesn’t make me valuable. Just reckless.”

  He chuckled, this time without mockery.

  “Maybe that’s exactly what I’m looking for.”

  He tapped his fingers lightly against the counter, as if sealing a silent deal.

  “Who knows... maybe there’s a place where that recklessness could actually be useful.”

  The moment broke with the fat man’s booming laugh. Walkyria’s eyes snapped toward Luna again, her fists clenching under the bar. When she looked back, the stranger’s cold gaze was still locked on hers.

  “Just say the word.” he murmured. “And I’ll pull her out of his hands.”

  Walkyria held his stare, breath tight in her chest. But she didn’t give him the “yes” he seemed to be waiting for. Instead, she leaned forward, her tone steady and deliberate.

  “You want me?” she said quietly. “Then you’ll wait. You’ll accept that I decide when.”

  For a heartbeat, the silence between them was suffocating. She feared she’d gone too far, that defying him would cost her dearly. Then he laughed, not loud, but low, like a spark against dry air. His eyes glimmered with intrigue.

  “Bold.” he murmured. “Or suicidal.” He swirled the untouched drink before him, considering. “Alright then. Deal.”

  Walkyria swallowed hard, startled that he’d actually agreed to her terms. Her stomach twisted with anxiety, but beneath it flickered something strange: for the first time in years, someone had treated her voice as if it mattered.

  He stood with deliberate calm, smoothing his coat, a movement that drew the attention of the two younger men at the table. His steps echoed through the hall with unnerving composure, cutting against the rowdy laughter filling the room.

  From behind the counter, Walkyria’s body stayed tense, eyes locked on him as he approached the fat man, who was already dragging Luna toward the corridor.

  “What did you say to him?” her coworker whispered beside her.

  For a moment, Walkyria thought about telling the truth. But she stayed silent. Her colleague studied her face, searching for an answer, but Walkyria kept her expression unreadable, stone-cold. Inside, though, she was shaking.

  After all, she’d just sold her virginity to a stranger in exchange for saving another girl.

  ? ? ?