Norhavn unfolded before us like something from a dream, almost too beautiful to trust. The town pressed close to the shore, where the rocky coast softened into gold-streaked beaches. Wooden marinas stretched out over the water, sun-bleached and worn smooth by salt and time. Boats rocked gently in the harbor, their sails drawn in tight, the sea breathing beneath them. The air smelled of brine and warm cedar, and gulls cried overhead as a breeze rolled in off the water, tugging at my hair.
Faded pastel villas clung to the hillside, their shutters thrown open to the wind. Flowers spilled from everywhere, narrow streets twisted up from the docks, winding past spice shops, silversmiths and bakeries.
At the center of it all stood The Grand Spa, a wide timber building wrapped in shaded verandas. People wandered its terraces in linen robes, skin gleaming with sweat. It was a place built for indulgence.The sea glittered in the sun, and everything around it seemed to glow with it. I stood at the edge of it all, and caught myself imagining a life there. In one of those cliffside homes, with a garden full of herbs and flower beds. Bread in the oven. Salt drying on my skin after swimming in the ocean.
A simple life. A quiet one. But Norhavn wasn’t what it seemed, I’d learned by then that most things aren’t.
It took us a day to findthe gentlemen’s club. It took us longer to get in. It was a members-only establishment, and the only way through the doors was by invitation, someone already inside had to vouch for you. Which meant we had to play the part. Swim in the glittering ocean beneath blue skies. Wander through farmers markets and expensive jewelry shops. Relax at the spa. Get massages. It might sound like a good time, but I hated every second of it. Every moment we failed to get in was another moment Licia was still trapped in Hel. And I was supposed to act like I didn’t care.
I wasn’t good at pretending. I never got close to any of ourtargets—I think they found me strange. Thankfully, the others had better luck. And after a few days of trying, Aran and Will came back with an invitation.
It was cryptic. A small card, signed off by the man they’d conned.
Personal invitation. No women allowed.
I remember staring at those words. Wondering how a brothel could possibly have a no women allowed policy. And then I understood. The girls inside weren’t women to them, they were products. Entertainment. And the sign wasn’t a rule; it was a warning not to bring anyone they might care about.
No wives. No daughters. No one who matters. Because no one cares about the whores.
While the boys disappeared to the club that night, Kalani and I stayed behind. We spent the evening at a restaurant by the water, where a quiet inlet of the sea stretched dark and endless beneath themoonlight. Lanterns hung above the terrace, casting soft golden light over the tables and the air smelled like grilled fish and crushed herbs. I’d never liked seafood much, but in a town built against the coast, it was all they had on the menu.
It seemed strange that a place calledHelcould exist in a town like that. Beautiful. Idyllic. Peaceful. But that was the way of Alevé. They buried their secrets, then planted roses and orchids on top.
Around us, the women of Norhavn gathered, glittering and soft. They sipped their wine delicately, their laughter weaving in and out, almost harmonizing with each other. I was turning my glass between my fingers when a woman leaned toward me. Ilaria.
She was beautiful in the way some women are when they’ve never had to be anything else. Untouched by pain or grief. Her skin was polished, her lips the same blush as her rosé, and her gaze flicked between me and Kalani.
“Where are your husbands tonight, girls?” she asked, her voice sickly sweet.
My hand tensed around the stem of my glass.
“They went to that place down by the water,” I told her. “The gentlemen’s club.”
The shift was immediate.Laughter faded, not all at once, but like a candle snuffed out mid-sentence. Wine glasses paused mid-air, and eyes flicked between faces. A beat too long passed in silence before Ilaria’s lips curled into a brittle little smile, the edge of it sharp.
“Oh, my poor dears.” She murmured.
Something cold slid down my spine, and studied her more closely. Wondered if she knew.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Another woman leaned in, Eda. She looked young, maybe just a few years older than me, with long blonde curls and a soft, rounded face. She wore a pale yellow sundress and diamond studs that probably cost more than everything I’d ever owned.
Her voice was gentle, almost apologetic. “It might seem harmless,” she said, offering a careful smile, “but that place isn’t what it seems.” She looked down into her wine and swirled it once. “We all know whatreallyhappens behind those doors.”
They. All. Knew?
Ilaria sighed and pressed two fingers to her temple.
“My husband came home last month reeking of roses and brandy,” she snarled. “And he had the nerve to show up with a hickey on his neck. A hickey. Like some drunken schoolboy. How dare he make a fool of me.”
She drained her glass in one long pull.
The third woman, Isleen, leaned back, one manicured hand spread over her chest like the entire conversation was too scandalous for her. She wore a sheer rose-colored shawl and coral lipstick that had settled in the fine lines around her mouth.
“My Josha came home last week with a stack of silvers,” she said lightly. “Enough to buy us another cabin down south.”
Anothercabin. Those women were richer than I could have imagined. Isleen let out a dainty laugh, like the money made it all okay. Like the rest didn’t matter.
