An usher approached and guided us up winding stairs, past hushed corridors and thick carpet, until we reached the balcony. Box seats curved around the stage, trimmed in gold, lined with velvet and dark wood. It was beautiful. But nothing about it felt kind. The chandelierabove us glittered like a crown of light, casting long shadows across the red velvet curtains that hung over the stage.
I sat stiff, hands knotted in my lap, Will dropped into the seat beside me, his eyes sweeping the room like he expected something to go wrong. Below us, the audience was settling. A sea of silks and pearls, perfume curling through the air. It made my skin crawl.
Will leaned in slightly, and whispered. “It’s... an actual theatre?”
Kalani didn’t look at him. Her body stayed perfectly still, every muscle tense.
“You’ll understand,” she said, barely audible.
The murmurs faded as the lights dimmed. Every head turned forward and silence settled over the room.
Then the curtains parted.
Golden light spilled across the stage, soft at first, then growing, warm and liquid against the polished floor. For a moment, there was nothing, just the glow. Then music, loud and grand to which a dozen women stepped into view, their dresses glimmering in blues and greens and molten gold. They moved in perfect unison, every step slow, fluid, deliberate. I wouldn't call it dancing, it was too graceful, too flawless. It looked more like they floated, like leaves caught in the wind.
Kalani sat rigid beside me, her spine locked in place. She wasn’t watching like the others. Her gaze held something deeper, something she couldn’t look away from.
“I’ve never seen it from this side before,” she whispered. Her voice barely reached me beneath the swell of the music. The dancers stopped mid-motion, aligned in a flawless line. Together, they raised their arms, fingers poised. Then bowed. The applause came right on cue. It didn't feel spontaneous. Not joyful. Just… expected. Like a script everyone had memorized. Everyone except us.
Kalani swallowed hard. When she spoke again, her voice sounded like it might snap in half.
“This is where they choose.” She said.
The words didn’t make sense at first. Choose? Then I remembered we weren’t there to watch a beautiful show. It was the facade of a brothel, and we were to infiltrate it.Choose. Of course. That’s what the stage was for.
“Choose?” Will turned asked.
Kalani didn’t respond right away, her eyes remained locked on the stage, where the women still stood, silent, waiting. Like dolls lined up for inspection. She scanned them with her eyes.
“The girls,” she said finally. “They choose which one to…”
“Got it.” Will cut in.
He quickly came to the same conclusion I had. Those girls weren’t performers anymore. They were livestock. Dressed for display.
“She’s not here,” Kalani said.
Aran’s head snapped toward her. “What do you mean? You said she’d be here.”
“I thought she would be.” Kalani rubbed the hem of her dress between two fingers. "I don’t know why she’s not.”
Then the spirit to fight back came to her.
“Did you bring weapons?” she asked, looking at us.
Aran leaned back in his seat, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I like where this is going.”
“Well?” Kalani didn’t flinch. “Did you?”
Aran slipped his hand into his trouser pocket, and pulled out a knife. The polished blade caught the candlelight as he spun it between his fingers, smooth and practiced. "Always," he said.
Kalani exhaled, then turned sharply and led us through a door tucked behind the stage. I barely noticed it until it closed behind us. The noise faded. The lights dimmed. And suddenly, we were in another world. She moved quickly. Not running, but with the kind of speed that came from knowing exactly where to place her feet. I realized she must have walked these hidden corridors a thousand times, if not more. She skittered like a mouse across the wooden floor,fast and silent, her hand brushing along the wall to keep herself steady. When we heard footsteps further ahead, she spun and threw a hand toward us. A sharp gesture.
Stop.
We froze. She pointed to the shadows, and we slipped into them like smoke. Then the hallway narrowed, dipping into a downward slope, and we followed her down a staircase, barely wide enough for two people to pass side by side. The air changed as we descended, and it was cooler down there. Darker. Murkier. The kind of dark that made you forget what time it was, what day it was. The kind that stayed in your lungs even after you’d left. It reminded me of the ship hold, except if didn’t smell of piss and rot.
If it had all been a trap, some carefully laid plan to lead us straight into the depths and lock the door behind us, it would’ve worked. We followed Kalani blindly. And even though the boys were armed to the teeth, and I was… for better or worse, an indestructable weapon myself, I still got the chills just thinking about it. Being trapped in a place like that. Forced to dance. Forced to keep performing after the curtain fell.
