Astro had been to enough of these places to recognize the patterns. Upscale neighborhood. Gated driveway. Security camera half-hidden in a porch light. All meant to make someone feel safe, but it never really applied to him.

He rang the bell twice, fast, like the agency taught. Less time standing still.

She opened the door almost immediately. Soft sweater. No makeup. Bare feet.

She looked at him the way people look at a breeze they weren’t expecting—surprised, but not upset.

He handed her the tablet. “You just need to sign. And confirm the payment.”

She didn’t ask his name. Didn’t hesitate. Just signed with a stylus and handed it back. Astro briefly checked her name to confirm it matched the reservation.

Kitana.

He stepped inside her house, scanning. Entryway. Open floor plan. No second person hiding behind a door. No weird cameras in obvious sight. He didn’t take off his shoes, didn’t loosen his coat. Everything stayed with him—bag, wallet, phone. It was muscle memory now.

“You can change into your pajamas in the bathroom down the hall,” she said gently, already turning toward the kitchen. “I’m putting on tea.”

Astro blinked. “Right,” he muttered, even though none of this was right.

The pajamas were in his bag—sent to him last week in a plain box, tagged with her client ID and a single line: “Wear this when you come.” He’d almost tossed them, thinking it was a weird request, but the agency said to comply. High-paying regular. “Eccentric,” they’d said. “But respectful.”

He changed in silence. The pajamas were soft, navy blue, and fit like they’d been measured. They didn’t itch. They didn’t cling. They smelled faintly like lavender detergent.

He looked at himself in the mirror and didn’t recognize the person staring back.

When he came out, she was curled into the corner of a long couch, a blanket folded neatly beside her. The tea was set on a tray on the coffee table. Two cups. She patted the space beside her.

He hesitated. “Where do you want to—uh. Do this?”

Her eyes lifted, calm and unbothered. “Here’s fine.”

She didn’t touch him at first. Just handed him a cup of tea, then pulled the blanket over both of them. And slowly, carefully, she leaned against him and let her arm drape around his waist—tugging him close like he was a pillow, or something softer than he felt like.

Astro went stiff. Instinct screamed at him: She’s playing nice. It’ll start soon. The kisses, the wandering hands, the demands whispered like apologies.

But nothing came.

Just her breath, slow and even. Just her head resting against his shoulder. Her hand gently curled around his sleeve.

Like she didn’t want anything from him. Just wanted him.

And he didn’t know what to do with that.