Page 4 of The Centaur’s Impulse

I furrowed my brows, looking him over. “What’s the big secret? It’s just a bathhouse.”

“You’ll find out when you get there,” he said. “But just promise me that this stays between us. Nobody else finds out, okay?”

“Kavi—”

“Promise me.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, shaking my head. “I promise.”

He gave me a nod and didn’t push it further. We rode back to the clubhouse in silence, and I spent the drive trying not to think about what exactly I was agreeing to or why he felt the need to keep it such a secret. I wondered if maybe I was stepping into something illegal or going someplace that would get me into some sort of trouble. But that didn’t sound like Kavi. He wasn’t the kind of guy to get mixed up in stuff like that.

Clearly though, whatever this bathhouse held in store for me, it was something Kavi didn’t want getting out. The curiousity was eating me alive.

I called ahead before I left the clubhouse, texting Chidi that I was taking personal time and wouldn’t be available until the following Monday. I didn’t give him details. I knew he’d try to argue, would probably loop in Nadia, and the whole thing would spiral into a conversation about quarterly projections and client meetings. Better to just cut it off before it started.

The drive to the warehouse district took longer than forty minutes in Saturday evening traffic. I found myself gripping the steering wheel tighter as I got closer, my mind cycling through increasingly absurd scenarios. What if this place was some kind of scam? What if Kavi had lost his mind? What if I showed up and it was just a normal spa with eucalyptus steam rooms and cucumber water?

That last thought should have been reassuring. It wasn’t.

The address Kavi had texted me led to an unmarked metal sided building squeezed between a shuttered textile factory and what looked like an abandoned warehouse. No sign. No indication that anything at all was happening inside. I sat in my car for a solid five minutes, hands still on the wheel, staring at the steel door with its single neon sign that read OPEN.

Anonymous. No names shared. No questions asked.

I got out of the car before I could overthink it further.

The door was unlocked and opened easily. Inside, I found what looked to be a standard waiting room with vinyl floors, fluorescent lighting, a couple of fake plants, and two chairs. On the far end was a man with silver hair sitting behind a desk. His nose was currently buried in a book, and he didn’t bother looking up when the door closed behind me. The place seemed normal enough.

I stepped up to the desk, feeling a bit awkward in just my golf clothes. Was I suppsoed to bring a towel? Cash? Clothes to change into? Swim trunks? I had no idea. I hadn’t even bothered to ask. I just wanted to make Kavi stop looking at me like that.

“Membership card,” the man said, not looking up.

“I don’t have one,” I replied. “My friend Kavi told me to come here?”

The man finally looked up from his book. He was older, maybe fifties, with deep lines around his eyes and a calm expression that suggested he’d seen everything twice and wasn’t particularly impressed by any of it.

“Kavi,” he repeated, as if testing the name. Then something flickered across his face—recognition, and maybe amusement. “Kavi Rajan? He’s been coming here for years.”

I felt my shoulders relax slightly. At least I wasn’t walking into some kind of scam.

“He said I should come. That it would help me... relax.”

The man set down his book and leaned back in his chair, studying me with an intensity that made me want to fidget. “You look like you need it,” he said finally.

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I didn’t. I just waited.

He reached under the desk and produced a clipboard with a form attached. “Fill this out. It’s mostly just liability stuff. We need a name and a number in case of an emergency. Everything else is optional. We don’t keep records longer than ninety days, and we don’t share information with anyone.”

I took the clipboard and pen, my eyes scanning the form. It was sparse, just what he’d mentioned, plus a few health questions. No credit card information. No address beyond a zip code. It really did seem designed to be anonymous.

“The locker room is through the door behind me,” the man continued, already turning back to his book. “Leave everything in your locker, including jewelry. No electronic devices are allowed inside the bathhouse. There’s towels in the lockers already, and showers around the corner. The main bathing area is just beyond the locker room. Steam rooms are on the main floor, private pools below. Play rooms are upstairs. Take your time. Stay as long as you want.”

“Play rooms?” I asked. “Like board games or something?”

The man laughed. “Yeah. Something like that.”

I finished filling out the form and handed it back to him. He barely glanced at it before filing it away in a drawer. He grabbed a wristband with a key attached and pushed it across the desk toward me.

“Locker forty-nine,” he said, and I could have sworn there was a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Welcome to the bathhouse.”