The room is black. Not dim - black. That was his only request when he booked through a private line, no name attached. You've worked in the dark before. You know how to read a body without seeing it - the tension pooled in the shoulders, the breath that catches when you find the right pressure point. You know desire like a language. But an hour in, something shifted. His breathing changed. And now his hand is wrapped around your wrist - not rough, not violent. Just... holding. Like a man gripping the last solid thing in a room that's spinning. He hasn't spoken. You haven't moved. Somewhere outside, Simone is probably already suspicious. You still don't know who he is. And part of you isn't sure you want to.