The piano beyond the wall changed to something slower. Male voices rose, then faded. Applause came once, muffled by the doors. The girl on the couch pressed both hands over her mouth.
At 10:21, they called Lot Nine.
At 10:29, they called Lot Ten.
My throat dried.
Polina checked the tag clipped discreetly inside the side seam of my chemise and frowned.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“That wasn’t a nothing face.”
She unclipped the tag and looked toward the door. “You’re Lot Fourteen.”
“So?”
The staff member at the entrance checked her tablet. “Lot Eleven is holding. Lot Twelve is moved.”
Polina’s lacquered nails pressed into the silk tag.
The staff member looked at me. “Lot Fourteen. Stand.”
My chair scraped softly against the floor.
Polina turned on her. “She isn’t in order.”
“She’s called.”
“By who?”
“Floor.”
Polina’s mouth flattened. The two women held still for one long second.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
The staff member’s gaze slid to me. “It means you stand.”
My legs obeyed before the rest of me caught up.
The room blurred at the edges. Lot Eleven holding. Lot Twelve moved. Lot Fourteen called. The words meant something to them and nothing useful to me.
Polina stepped close and fixed one curl near my cheek. Her fingers were cool. “Walk slowly. Keep your chin level. If you feel faint, tell the attendant before you fall.”
“That happens often?”
“Often enough.”
She guided me toward the door.
The girl on the couch watched me pass. “Good luck,” she whispered.
The words nearly broke me because they were kind and useless and all she had.
“Thank you,” I said.
