The screen held paragraphs in small black print. Private contract. Voluntary participation. Virgin status verification. Confidentiality. Forfeiture. Discretion. Release of liability. My eyes moved over the words, but my attention stayed on the door behind her, the keycard clipped to her waist, the hallway camera tucked into a dark corner near the ceiling, and the second man in a black suit standing near an elevator bank.
There were no windows, no public lobby beyond the entry hall, and no other women waiting where I could see them.
I took the stylus.
My name looked too small on the screen.
The woman took the tablet back. “Phone and bag.”
My grip tightened before I could stop it. “Why?”
“No personal belongings in prep or presentation.”
“My ID stays with me.”
“Your ID stays with your checked belongings.”
“No.”
The man near the elevator turned his head.
The woman’s expression didn’t change. “You may decline intake.”
My pulse beat hard in my throat.
Decline intake. Walk back out under the canopy. Take the train home. Find Petya awake or pretending to sleep. Wait for Gennady to decide that three days had been generous.
I unhooked the bag from my shoulder and set it on the desk.
“Inventory,” the woman said.
She opened it in front of me. Phone. Wallet. Keys. Lipstick. Crumpled tissues. A protein bar I’d bought from the bodega and forgotten to eat. The sight of it made my stomach twist with sudden, useless hunger.
She placed everything into a cream-colored cloth pouch with a printed tag. Then she slid the tag toward me.
“Initial here.”
I did.
The bag disappeared into a drawer behind the desk. The drawer shut with a soft, expensive whisper.
“I need your coat,” she said.
I looked down at myself. “Now?”
“Yes.”
I unbuttoned my coat and handed it over. Cold clung to my black sweater and skirt. I had dressed as neatly as I could, which meant I looked poor in clean clothes. Black tights. Low heels.Small hoops. Hair trying to escape the pins. Lipstick doing its best.
The woman placed my coat on a hanger and passed it to a staff member who had appeared from a side door. Same black uniform. Same quiet face.
“Follow her,” the woman said.
The staff member led me to the elevator. She didn’t give her name. I didn’t ask. A name would make her harder to ignore later, and everyone in this building seemed trained not to become memorable.
The elevator opened without a sound.
Inside, mirrored walls reflected me from every side. My face looked pale under the soft gold ceiling light. My mouth was too red. My eyes were too large. The woman pressed a keycard to the panel, then touched the button for the top floor.
