The silk curtains swayed gently as summer light poured through the high windows of the Passiflora's upper lounge. Cushions were strewn lazily over the chaise beneath Amrynn, where she lay reclined, one leg hooked over the other, a bowl of ripe cherries resting near her hip. The velvet of her green wrap clung artfully to her skin, as if draped by design and not necessity.

Below, the sounds of laughter and coin flowed like riverwater through the brothel’s marble halls, muffled by distance. She plucked a cherry by the stem, lips parting slightly as she slipped it between them, blue eyes going to the door as it opened and a man walked up to her. She smiled and raised and eyebrow at him while chewing the fruit.