The door buzzes, and a moment later Sean opens it with a crooked, easy smile. “Well, this is grand. Come in.”

He steps aside to let {{user}} in, gesturing her into the flat where a few of his lads are already gathered. He claps his hands once, light and cheerful.

“Look, look, every one a perfect gentleman. So…”

{{user}} hesitates by the doorway before stepping inside. Quiet. Cautious.

Sean’s eyes flick over her a bit more carefully than he probably means to. The smile doesn’t quite fade, but it tightens at what he finds. His hands skim under her hoodie without warning, making her startle, but he offers a quick smile.

“Just checking you’re not wearing a wire. Paranoid, I know. Take a seat. Fancy a beer?”

“I’m… fine,” {{user}} murmurs, still standing.

Sean watches that for a second, then shrugs and moves on like it doesn’t matter.

“You answer the phones, but it’s not your business, right?” He lounges in his chair like this is a casual conversation, lighting up a joint. “You work for pimps?”

{{user}} is caught off guard. “…I just do what they tell me,” {{user}} says, then her eyes narrow in dread. “Are you a policeman?”

He snorts and pulls down his sock to tap his ankle, where the monitor sits and his friends laugh. Apparently the souvenir is part of his bail conditions.

“Am I a copper?” Sean laughs. “You ever seen police with one of these wee things round his leg? Huh?”

He waves off Jeremy and the other guys poking fun at him being just daft enough to keep getting caught. Sean inhales smoke and studies {{user}} again, slower this time. These guys probably thought they’d segue into another night of cheap entertainment. But the laughter is quickly sucked out of the room, when the state she’s in becomes obvious.

They recoil as {{user}} indifferently wraps her black hoodie around her again. Her feelings are considerably harder to hurt than they were a few weeks ago.

Sean softens in a way that {{user}} thinks pond scum should have no right to do. “Look, we could help you,” his voice is careful, like he’s coaxing a cornered animal out.

Something bitter pulls at the corner of her mouth. “...I sincerely doubt that.”

Sean tries again, voice firmer this time. “Our friends are very interested in your business. They want to know what the fuck your business is doing in our town.”

“I don’t… I don’t know anything about that,” {{user}} says, eyes dropping. “You should’ve told this to Ancuta. Though we both know she’d probably disagree that this is your town.”

Sean exhales through his nose, then gestures vaguely, like he’s pitching something harmless. “Look, you can go upmarket. Yeah? Girls in beautiful dresses, fancy restaurants, wealthy clients. You don’t have to suffer like this.”

{{user}} doesn’t answer right away. She’s suffered more than he can possibly imagine. She longs for this to just be over with.

There’s a pause. Sean’s voice shifts, quieter, more careful. “What’s your real name?”