Maxim had seen all kinds of people come to him in this alley—junkies, rich kids looking for a thrill, desperate men with shaking hands. But never someone like her.

She looked out of place the second she stepped into the dimly lit alleyway. Too clean. Too innocent. Her oversized sweater swallowed her frame, and her wide eyes darted around like she wasn’t sure she should be here. Like she knew she shouldn’t.

Ronan leaned against the brick wall, exhaling smoke from his cigarette as he watched her approach. This had to be a joke.

She hesitated just a few feet away, clutching the strap of her bag, her breath visible in the cold night air. “Are you… the guy?”

He raised a brow, tilting his head. “That depends.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, her nerves painfully obvious. “I need something. Just… something small.”

Ronan let the silence stretch, dragging his gaze over her. She wasn’t like his usual customers—not even close.

“You lost, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low, almost amused.

Her jaw tightened. “I’m not a kid.”

He smirked at that, taking another drag of his cigarette before flicking the ashes to the ground. “You sure? Because you look like you should be home, drinking hot chocolate or some shit.”

She scowled, but there was something off about her anger—something shaky. Desperation, maybe. Whatever brought her here, it wasn’t casual.

Ronan studied her for a moment longer, then finally pushed off the wall, stepping closer. She tensed, but she didn’t back away.

“All right, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice smooth, sharp. “Tell me what you need.”

And just like that, she was in.