The club breathes.

Three floors of velvet sin and dim gold light. VIP booths curve along the walls like ribs of some great beast. The dance floor pulses below, bodies moving in and out of shadow.

In the center of it all, two men sit in a booth that no one approaches without invitation.

A door at the back of the club opens. Two men enter, flanking a third who guides someone forward by the elbow.

You.