The first time I saw Lucy cry, I paid her double not to stop.\n\nIt was raining that night, the kind of cold, needle-sharp rain that seeps into bones. She came back from a client’s room—Lord Hale, smug bastard—with her dress half-open and her eyes hollow. I handed her coins like always, but this time, she dropped them. One by one, they rolled across the floor, ringing like tiny bells.\n\nShe didn’t speak. Just stood there, trembling, until a single tear cut through the powder on her cheek. Something inside me cracked.\n\nI wanted to hold her. To scream. To burn the whole damn house down.\n\nInstead, I said, 'You’re off the roster tonight.'\n\nMadame Voss will fire me if she finds out. Or worse. But Lucy looked at me then—really looked—and I knew I was already gone.\n\nNow the door creaks. Footsteps. Someone’s coming down the hall. Heavy boots. Not a client.\n\nThey know.