The night moved with its usual rhythm. Bodies shifted through the hall, men lost between lust and despair, consuming their urges on shadowed sofas. The red lights didn’t illuminate so much as hint at shapes and outlines, as if the whole place lived suspended between desire and threat.

  The plan was underway. It would be Walkyria’s first night working actively there and, if everything went as planned, her last.

  Barbara received her request with a wide smile. She’d long been aware of the looks clients cast at Walkyria since she’d first crossed the threshold, but had always been careful not to push her. Not that she’d never tried.

  Now the girl stood before her asking to start.

  Walkyria’s expression was unreadable; a mask somewhere between apathy and resolve. Barbara made no effort to decode it. Friday was busy, and regulars liked, and always appreciated, something new.

  “I just have... one request.” Walkyria’s voice came out nearly trembling, as if she were asking for more than she should.

  Barbara arched a brow and waited. Walkyria went on, her voice gathering a little more confidence.

  “Since I’ve never done this before... I’d at least like to choose my first client.”

  The madam’s reserved smile broadened into something sly, a malicious glint crossing her face.

  “Ah, the first client...” she purred, savoring it like an inside joke. “Alright, Walkyria. Consider it a courtesy. But only the first. After that, I want you active. It’ll be a long night.”

  Long, she says.... Walkyria only smiled and nodded, masking the rancor, Long and with blood on the edges, you bitch.

  With a bitter taste in her mouth, Walkyria took just a few days until she learned that Aurora’s story wasn’t a secret among the women, but it hovered over them like a taboo.

  Aurora. A Shrouded of uncommon beauty: warm-toned skin, violet eyes that reflected the red light like embers, black hair cascading to her waist. She had been as desired as she was respected, able to pick which clients would be granted the privilege.

  And still, that didn’t save her.

  The man who ended her was known. A high-ranking Shrouded, with a reputation for brutality in that world. The kind who didn’t need a reason to hurt. Tall, imposing, he left a wake of fear every time he appeared at the brothel. Each visit of his ended with a woman hurt.

  But he paid well. He bought silence, and for Barbara, that was enough.

  With Aurora, however, he’d crossed the line.

  Barbara’s official version, spread to her girls, was that he’d “got a little heavy-handed.” A euphemism for the horror that actually happened. Walkyria refused to accept that half-truth. She dug, prodded open wounds, listened to older women’ risky confidences.

  Aurora had not simply been hurt. Aurora had been hurt and smothered to death.

  And she wasn’t the only one.

  From the whispers Walkyria forced out of people at risk, a pattern emerged: each return of that man left a dead Shrouded in its wake. It had become almost routine. After the third fatality, the women conspired and pressured Barbara to bar him from the house.

  What they didn’t know, but Walkyria already did, was that the monster was back. That certainty burned in her gut like red-hot iron. The name Grey had whispered was no longer an enigma; it was a blade stuck in her side.

  And now Walkyria would finally put an end to him for good.

  The bustle in the antechamber where they got ready was pure chaos. Bodies and heels moved back and forth, while Walkyria now watched it all with different eyes. One of the girls passing by gave her a quick wink.

  “Finally going to put that beauty to use, Wal.”

  She just laughed.

  “I could use a little help here.”

  A few heads turned, as if noticing her presence for the first time. With a slightly hesitant gesture, she faced the group of girls, some holding brushes in their hands, others were half-dressed, still slipping into corsets or tight dresses.

  “Could someone do my makeup?”

  There was a ripple of laughter and a playful argument over who would be in charge of the masterpiece. After a lively scuffle, they sat Walkyria down on a stool before a large mirror that reflected her entirely. She had never thought of herself as particularly vain, but she was starting to enjoy it.

  Pencil, mascara, blush... products she couldn’t even name were applied generously to her face. Her hair was repositioned, sparking friendly tension among the girls.

  “Leave it like that, to the side...” said one, sweeping her hair over.

  “No, no...” another cut in, nearly pushing her. “Keep it this way. Sexier.”

  “Wow.” someone said. “Looks like we found a hidden gem.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Laughter followed.

  It took them a few minutes to reach a consensus.

  “There you go...” one finally declared. “Tonight you’ve got work to do, Wal. Real work.”

  Walkyria was flawless. The black dress, borrowed from one of her colleagues, shaped itself to her curves without revealing too much, leaving room for imagination. The makeup was precise, accentuating her cold eyes, and her hair, loose, fell in controlled waves. There was nothing vulgar about her presence, only the silent promise of something that could be fatal.

  She smiled, satisfied. The first part of the job, appearance, seemed handled.

  She thanked the others warmly before putting the mask Luna had made for her and hopped off the stool, tugging at the dress that insisted on riding up higher than it should. Then her gaze fell on the high heels.

  That, she thought, would be the real challenge of the night.

  With discreet precision, she adjusted the commlink in her ear, connecting her to Grey, before tossing her hair back again to cover it.

  She took advantage of the moment while Luna was still working at the brothel — like an older sister, she’d at least made sure to leave her in the company of a Shrouded worth a damn in that hellhole — and slipped back into the room, silent, while all the commotion remained concentrated in the main hall.

  Her eyes flicked to the clock. Nine-thirty.

  Not that late. Still, she hesitated before sending the signal. The seconds dragged on. Too long.

  For a moment, Walkyria almost took the silence as a warning. An invitation to back out. She was about to cut the call when a voice came through the line, making her hold her breath.

  “I thought you’d changed your mind.” Grey’s voice came through the commlink. It was loaded — too mocking, too intimate.

  She let out a short breath, a low laugh slipping free.

  “I won’t deny I considered it,” she replied. “There’s a lot of shit wrapped up in this Aurora business.”

  She was about to continue when a sound cut through the line. But it wasn’t interference.

  It was breathing.

  She went still for half a second, listening more closely. In the background, a woman’s voice murmured something in another language — low, almost pleading for attention. There was effort in the tone. An exaggerated sweetness.

  Walkyria’s brow arched slowly.

  “Did I call at a bad time?” she asked, making no attempt to mask the sarcasm.

  Grey took a second longer than usual to answer. But before he could say anything, another feminine gasp slipped through — poorly suppressed… and unmistakably clear to Walkyria’s ears.

  Closer now. Sharper. Ridiculously more charged.

  The smile vanished from her face.

  “Grey, you—”

  Another sound. A tremulous moan, longer this time. Louder.

  Unmistakable.

  Heat rushed to her face before her mind fully caught up. With a sharp movement, she ended the call and tossed the commlink onto the bed, both hands flying to her mouth.

  “Son of a bitch… he was—”

  She couldn’t even finish.

  Indignant, she began pacing the room, thoughts crashing into one another.

  “I can’t believe this… how could he...”

  The notification sound stopped her mid-step.

  She stared at the commlink for a few seconds, breathing slowly, letting it ring longer than she should have. Finally, she gave in, picked it up, and slipped it back into her ear.

  “Why did you hang up?” His voice came through, almost offended.

  Walkyria had to gather every shred of self-control before replying.

  “Are you alone?” she asked, flat.

  There was a brief pause. In the background, the faint sound of fabric brushing. A woman’s sigh — far too close to the communicator.

  “No need,” he replied, unmistakably amused. “Should I take this call as your acceptance of my offer?”

  She closed her eyes for a moment. Control it, she repeated inwardly, like a mantra.

  “Answer the question. Are you alone?” she insisted, her tone firmer now.

  On the other end, Grey exhaled slowly. Deliberately loud.

  “You’re far too demanding, Walkyria…”

  Before she could respond, the female voice surfaced again, closer this time, lower. Murmuring something in that same language Walkyria didn’t recognize. The tone was no longer seductive.

  It was possessive.

  Walkyria’s jaw tightened.

  Then Grey said something in that language as well, short, restrained. The reply came immediately, irritated, a rapid string of words spat with fury.

  And then the crack.

  Sharp. Clean.

  Skin against skin.

  Walkyria blinked in surprise and, against her better judgment, almost let out a short breath of laughter through her nose. A few seconds dragged by, following by footsteps retreating. Something shoved aside and then the unmistakable slam of a door.

  Silence.

  “I’m alone,” Grey said at last. Simple. Controlled.

  And very obviously annoyed.

  Walkyria stayed silent for a moment, as if she needed to steady her breathing before trusting her voice.

  “Good,” she said finally. “Then maybe now you can pay attention.”

  On the other end, Grey let out a short, low laugh — not quite amused enough to be careless.

  “You always know how to pick the right tone, Walkyria.”

  She ignored it.

  “You said Aurora wasn’t just a name.” She leaned against the edge of the bed, fingers curling into the sheets. “That there was something bigger behind it. I want to know exactly what I’m getting into by agreeing to this.”

  There was a pause. Longer this time. When Grey spoke again, the mockery was gone entirely.

  “It’s simple, really,” he said, his tone almost too neutral. “A request for asset termination. Big people… no longer want this individual breathing.”

  He spoke as if commenting on something trivial. It made her frown.

  “The request came from within the Order itself,” he added. “You know what that means.”

  “…That he messed the wrong people,” she said slowly.

  “He messed with the wrong people,” Grey confirmed without hesitation.

  But there was something else there. Extra weight. Something personal he didn’t bother hiding completely.

  “And where do I fit into this?” Walkyria began pacing again. “I can’t just… kill a man and come back here to sleep the same night.”

  “I know,” he replied immediately — too immediately. “You come back with me. To the Order.”

  The certainty in his tone made her stop.

  “Just like that?” she asked, crooked humor slipping into her voice. “One shutdown job buys my way in?”

  Grey sighed. She heard footsteps in the background, the sound of wine being poured. A sip. Only then did he speak again.

  “Consider it sufficient,” he said at last, patient, almost instructive. “I’ll make sure you’re placed under my supervision.”

  The silence that followed was dense.

  “You trust me too much,” she murmured.

  “No,” he corrected, flat. “I trust what you’re capable of.”

  Heat crept up her face, much to her irritation.

  “Then tell me,”she said. “What’s the plan.”

  There was a faint smile in his voice when he answered.

  “Draw his attention. Just you. Use whatever tools you have at your disposal.” A calculated pause. “You have a… unique arsenal, Walkyria. I know you can do it.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a slow breath.

  “Distract him,” he concluded. “I’ll follow. I’ll ensure the Contract is completed.”

  “What time?” she asked.

  “Midnight,” he replied. “Dress to be seen. But remember — you won’t be alone. Not for a second.”

  The silence that settled afterward was no longer uncomfortable.

  It was charged.

  “Grey…” she called before ending the connection.

  “Hm?”

  She hesitated. Thought better of it.

  “…Nothing,” she said finally. “Just… be there.”

  “I will, Walkyria.”

  The line went dead.

  ? ? ?