For a second, she just felt stupid. Utterly stupid. She doubted Luna would’ve done the same for her. But now, it was too late.

  When the pale-eyed stranger reached the pair, the old man reacted with instant fury: face red, eyes narrowing. Then something changed. His anger collapsed into shock. His fat fingers froze, and suddenly he shoved Luna from his lap away as if she’d burned him. She stumbled, landing against the stranger’s chest, and he caught her easily with one firm hand on her shoulder.

  The old man scrambled to his feet, fumbling with his pants, a mix of rage and humiliation twisting his face. Without another word, he staggered out, refusing to look at anyone.

  The two younger men at the table shot up at once. Walkyria’s heart slammed in her chest. She’d forgotten they were even there and now chaos seemed inevitable. And it was her fault.

  Without thinking, she rounded the bar, ready to intervene. She wasn’t strong enough to take on two men, but she couldn’t just stand by.

  Then she froze.

  They were laughing.

  Laughing.

  The sound was all wrong, mocking, casual. As if throwing out the old man had been some kind of private joke. Walkyria’s stunned eyes darted between the pale-eyed stranger and the others, who greeted each other with easy gestures, like old friends.

  Then a dry voice cut through the noise behind her:

  “You sold yourself too cheap.”

  Walkyria went rigid. The words lashed down her spine like a whip. She turned slowly, forcing herself to lift her chin toward the voice. Another man, a stranger, stood there, watching her with cool, sharp judgment. His eyes flicked down her frame, cold and assessing, before he walked off toward the group.

  He was lean, almost boyish, like someone who’d grown too fast for his own body. But his jaw was hard, tight with restraint. Short, slightly wavy hair, eyes so dark she couldn’t tell their color.

  He exchanged a few low words with the trio like old accomplices and then left. The two younger men, still laughing, disappeared down the hallway with their chosen girls.

  In the main hall, Luna was still trembling in the pale-eyed man’s arms. Walkyria didn’t move as he lifted his head to look at her. His lips moved, forming a smile that bordered on sadistic.

  “Wanna settle the debt now?” no sound, just the shape of the words.

  Her breath hitched. She turned sharply, retreating behind the bar like nothing had happened. But out of the corner of her eye, she caught Luna pulling his face close, whispering something into his ear.

  He only smiled wider.

  It was in that utterly unnecessary moment that Barbara decided to make an appearance. A Shrouded woman, detestable to say the least. A shadow with an awful sense of timing. She never showed up to calm trouble, only when she smelled potential profit.

  Walkyria couldn’t help but wonder why she’d chosen now to appear. Barbara moved between the tables with the poise of someone who decided fates. All it took was one glance, and she personally escorted the young man and Luna toward the hallway, gesturing with exaggerated flair.

  Walkyria had to keep her jaw in place not to show anything. Inside, everything burned.

  She watched as Barbara led them to the King′s room, opening the door with pompous ceremony. Luna stepped in first, timid; the stranger said something that made Barbara laugh before she turned away, almost skipping.

  Now standing in the middle of the room, balancing a tray of drinks, Walkyria froze mid-step. Her eyes drifted back toward the hallway and for a fleeting second, their gazes met.

  His smile widened as he slowly closed the door.

  Minutes passed. Then more. A coworker from the bar was called to bring drinks to the room. There was a brief exchange of looks between them, silent but loaded. When the woman returned, there was an odd flush on her cheeks. It caught Walkyria’s attention.

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  “What... ” Walkyria hesitated, debating if she should even ask. “What is it?”

  The other woman stared at her for a moment, then let out a heavy sigh and a sly, wicked smile.

  “If only all our clients were like him...” she fanned herself dramatically and let out a quick sigh. “I bet ten credits Luna will be talking about that man for weeks.”

  Walkyria said nothing. She went back to her routine, her shift far from over. She adjusted glasses, poured drinks, smiled mechanically. But every time she made a round through the hall, her eyes were drawn, again and again to the same place: the King room’s door.

  One hour.

  Two.

  It was starting to get ridiculous.

  No one ever stayed that long. Not like that. She’d worked there long enough to know how things went: half an hour at most before the man was satisfied or too tired to move. Longer than that usually meant he’d passed out, drunk or drugged.

  When the door finally began to open, Walkyria stopped dead in the middle of the room, tray in hand. The door creaked open slowly and Luna stepped out first.

  The same Luna who used to trip over her own feet, blush at a single glance, now walked differently: straighter, firmer, her chin lifted. There was still fragility in her eyes, yes, but it was veiled by something new. A strange layer of confidence, far too mature to belong to her. As if she had burned through years of innocence in just a few hours.

  Walkyria almost dropped the tray.

  It was like watching someone die and be reborn right before her eyes.

  Luna crossed the room in silence, looking at no one, disappearing through the side door that led backstage.

  The noise of the bar swallowed the moment again: laughter, clinking glasses, moans seeping through other doors. But for Walkyria, everything blurred into background noise. Her eyes stayed locked on that same door, waiting.

  Waiting for the man who had apparently turned Luna from girl into woman.

  Realizing it would look odd to just stand there, she turned back toward the bar and set down the drinks carelessly, but her gaze never left the hallway.

  And then, the door opened again.

  The young man stepped out, silent, straightening his coat with the composure of someone returning from a short break. His face was unreadable, almost bored; no sign of pleasure, effort, or emotion. Just indifference.

  As he crossed the threshold, a faint shadow flickered across his expression. A twitch at the corner of his mouth, as if wiping away a bad taste. His eyes, low and sharp, carried something Walkyria recognized instantly: contempt.

  The offense hit her like a slap.

  Her blood boiled.

  How could he?

  Luna had walked out transformed, caught in a dazed euphoria that stripped her innocence bare for everyone to see, and he... he just walked away, like she was nothing. Like she was disposable.

  Walkyria swallowed hard, her fingers curling against the bar’s wood. She didn’t know if she wanted to spit a curse or throw a glass at his head.

  He returned to the hall as if carrying the dust of something half-digested on his shoulders. His face, too serious, almost disdainful, as if the hours inside that room had given him nothing but boredom.

  Then his eyes lifted. And found hers.

  It was like turning a page. The heavy expression shifted into a smile, sharp as a blade, lazy but precise. He had seen her. He had felt her anger, her disgust...and he seemed to enjoy it.

  Walkyria held his gaze, even as she felt the weight tighten in her gut.

  They still had a debt to settle.

  He sat down again, unhurried, resting his elbows on the counter.

  “Do you always look at people that way when they walk out of those rooms?” The question came low, tinged with amusement, and something sharper underneath.

  Walkyria cleared her throat, straightening her posture, trying to look untouchable.

  “I was just doing my job.”

  “Of course you were.” He chuckled softly, tilting his head. “But honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look at me like I’m the villain of some badly told story.”

  Her lips tightened as she forced her voice to stay steady.

  “Maybe because that’s exactly what you are.”

  Grey raised an eyebrow, the smile returning smaller now, more curious.

  “Then tell me. What’s my role in it, exactly?”

  For a moment, Walkyria almost answered. But she caught herself, shifting her weight and planting both hands on the counter.

  “Whatever it is, I’m not one of the characters.”

  He laughed, this time with something genuine in the sound, a light note breaking through the tension. He extended a hand, almost formally.

  “Grey.”

  She hesitated, then took it, firm, deliberate, as if her handshake itself was a statement of independence.

  “Walkyria.”

  He repeated the name slowly, tasting it.

  “Fits you.”

  The silence that followed could’ve been awkward, but he filled it by pulling a simple card from his pocket and setting it down in front of her.

  “Tomorrow. This address. If you ever want to start something different from what they call work around here.”

  Walkyria looked at the card without touching it, her voice steadier than she felt.

  “I’m not interested.”

  “How come?” His eyes glinted with amusement. “Your grand ambition is to stay... here?”

  She shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. Grey lifted his hands in mock surrender.

  “Hey, I’m not rushing you. I’m just giving you an option. One that doesn’t involve wiping glasses or swallowing insults.”

  She bit the corner of her lip, unable to hide the flicker of doubt starting to pulse inside her. He stood slowly, that slanted, almost conspiratorial smile curving back into place.

  “Think it over. I’ve got a feeling you’ll get bored way too fast if you keep standing behind this counter.”

  And then he left, leaving the card resting between her fingers and the unsettling sense that somehow, she’d already accepted his invitation without saying a word.

  ? ? ?