Her whole body ached. Her ribs creaked. Her bruises throbbed. Every time she moved her legs, the dried residue caked on her inner thighs pulled at her skin. Saki pressed a hand to the wall. One step. Another. Down the corridor. (I can move.) That was what mattered. If she could move, it wasn't over yet. A few days since they'd brought her back from the dungeon. The wounds all over her body still hadn't healed. But she wasn't too broken to walk. Saki stopped. Her own face reflected in a small window set into the wall. The bruises had turned a sickly yellow. The corner of her lip was split. Scabbed over. But—her eyes were different. Not the same as before. Something had changed the moment she'd noticed Ordo's gaze. (This body. I can use it.) Saki reached for the chest of her nightgown. Her fingers paused halfway through tying the cord. She loosened it. On purpose. The neckline fell open. The line of her collarbone. The swell of her breasts, visible beneath the thin fabric. Saki descended to the first floor. The main hall. Men were there. A few fat merchants. The rest were rough-edged mercenaries. Wine cups in hand. Cheap laughter. The moment Saki entered, the conversation died. One man's hand stopped mid-air. His cup frozen at his lips. Only his eyes moved. Their gazes converged on her chest. Saki didn't look at them. She just walked. Slowly. The cold stone under her bare soles. Forcing her aching legs to move. The men's silence. The sound of a cup being set down. The sound of swallowing. Saki passed along the wall. In the corner of her vision, faces turned toward her. One man craned his neck. The man next to him jabbed him with an elbow. "[whispers]...That the new one?" She could hear them. Saki walked past, face utterly blank. Heading for the stairs. Gazes stabbed into her back. Not stabbing, exactly—clinging. Like being stroked by sweaty palms. Disgusting. But—she wasn't afraid. (Men. Are they really this easy?) Her mind was cold. Quiet. Her body still trembled. The bruises ached. Every step brought back memories of being violated. The cold stone of the dungeon. The suffocation when hands closed around her throat. But her head stayed calm. She wasn't the one being watched anymore—she was the one watching. Saki stopped halfway up the stairs. She looked back. The men in the hall were still staring at her. Saki let her mouth twist. Just barely. Not even a smile. Just confirmation. (Exactly as I thought.) She climbed the stairs. Her footsteps echoed through the quiet corridor. In front of the office door. Saki steadied her breathing. Stood her aching body up straight. Wiped her expression blank. She knocked. "[cold]Enter." She opened the door. Madame Vespa sat behind the desk. Black dress. Gaunt fingers gripping a quill. Cold golden eyes pierced straight through Saki. "[gentle]I came to ask a favor." She was careful to keep her voice from trembling. "[cold]State it." "[gentle]I want to breathe some outside air. Would you permit me to go into the city?" Vespa's quill stopped. Golden eyes fixed on Saki's face. "[cold]Your reason?" "[gentle]A change of pace. I want to be ready to work again starting tonight." Saki answered with a face wiped clean of emotion. Vespa said nothing. Her fingertip tapped the desk. Once. "[cold]I'll assign you one guard. Return by sundown." Saki bowed her head. She closed the door. Vespa's gaze stabbed into her back. Deep in those golden eyes, a faint light—curiosity. Saki didn't notice. She went into the city. Through the pleasure quarter. Toward the plaza. A single guard walked behind her. A silent man. Expressionless. The sky was wide. Cobblestone streets. The sound of carriages. Merchants calling out. Children laughing. Saki walked slowly. (Outside air—not bad.) But that wasn't the point. She wanted to test whether her body could be used. Not just inside the brothel—on men outside, too. Would it work? Saki's feet stopped. Ahead of her. A flower stall. An old man sat in a chair. Thinning hair. A protruding gut. Maybe fifty years old. Gazing blankly at the street. Saki remembered that face. Before. On the way back from Gallon's slave market—starving, desperate, forced to service him with her mouth. Her stomach clenched. Disgust surged up. The sensation from that time flooded back into her mouth. Fishy. Salty. Nausea. But—Saki made herself smile. She approached him on her own. The flower seller noticed. Their eyes met. "[surprised]Y-you... from before..." Confusion flickered across the old man's face. Saki didn't miss that opening. She crouched down. Slowly. Let her chest fall open on purpose. Her collarbone exposed. The swell of her breasts shifting beneath the thin fabric. Her nipples pressing against the cloth. The old man's gaze was sucked in. His words stopped. His mouth hung half-open. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Saki stared at his face. The expression crumbling into slack, stupid pleasure. She burned it into her memory like a camera. (Men. Are they really this weak to a woman's body?) Her heart stayed cold and quiet. She wasn't crying. Wasn't even trembling. The old man's hand reached for Saki's shoulder. Shaking. Saki took that hand. By her own will. Into the shadow of a pillar, away from prying eyes—she led him there herself. Returning to the brothel. The twilight dyed the stone walls of the Under-Moon Manor red. Saki held a single flower in her hand. The flower seller had pressed it into her grip, like a man possessed. She hadn't taken any copper coins. (It's not about money.) She thought it to herself. (Today, I just wanted to dominate.) She entered through the front door. A figure stood further down the corridor. Ordo. A janitor, yet always lurking in the corners of the manor. A sullen, silent man. The one Camila had asked to tend Saki's wounds that day. —And he'd looked at her chest then. Saki remembered. That split-second glance. Saki approached him. "[gentle]Here. For you." She held out the flower. "[surprised]...The hell is this?" "[gentle]The flower seller gave it to me. A thank-you for the other day." As she handed him the flower, she did it on purpose—pressed her body against him. Her chest pushed against his arm. A soft sensation. Ordo's body went rigid in an instant. "[scared]Th... thank you." His voice shook. His face turned red. The hand accepting the flower was stiff with nerves. Saki smiled. She pulled away on her own. (Just as I thought.) Certainty settled in her heart. (This body can be a weapon.) Ordo stood frozen, flower in hand. Saki turned her back and walked toward her room. Around the corner of the corridor. Camila was waiting. Leaning against the wall. Arms crossed. Her long, dark-purple hair hung carelessly over her shoulders. Cold silver eyes pierced Saki. "[serious]What the hell were you doing outside?" Her voice was low. Quiet. "[cold]I wasn't doing anything." Saki answered after a pause. Camila's eyes narrowed. "[whispers]You want to die? If Vespa saw you, it'd be over." Saki smiled. Faintly. Camila couldn't understand that smile. "[cold]It's fine." That was all she said. She went back to her room. Camila stood rooted in place. Saki's smile wouldn't leave her mind. (She never used to make a face like that.) Further down the corridor. In the shadow of the staircase. Madame Vespa stood there. Her black dress melted into the darkness. The jewel on her left ear caught a faint light and gleamed dully. Her golden eyes had witnessed the entire exchange. The smile Saki had shown Camila. The disturbance Camila had shown in return. Her lips twisted. Slightly. "[whispers]Well, now. This is getting interesting." A voice no one could hear. Vespa turned on her heel without a sound and vanished to the upper floor. Only the whisper of her black dress hem dragging over the stone steps remained in the corridor.