Ayla could feel it.
Not in the air, not in the music—but in the way people looked at her.
Or didn't.
She wasn't like the other girls. They walked like shadows, their eyes practiced, lips painted into silence. But Ayla? She still flinched when someone grabbed her arm too hard. She still said "thank you" when she handed over drinks.
Maybe that's what made her obvious.
Maybe that's what made her noticed.
⸻
"Third night," the girl beside her whispered while reapplying lip gloss in the mirror. "You last this long, you'll make it to a week."
"That's comforting," Ayla muttered, adjusting the neckline of her too-tight dress.
"You're being watched," the girl added, more seriously this time. "Upstairs."
Ayla's fingers paused.
"Who?"
"No one we name out loud." She shrugged. "But if he notices you, your life changes. Sometimes for the better. Sometimes for the worse."
⸻
Later, Ayla moved through the crowd with her tray, her body stiff with nerves. The weight of the girl's words pressed against her spine like a warning. Her instincts screamed that something unseen was observing her—measuring her.
A chill traced her neck.
She didn't look up.
But part of her wanted to.
⸻
During her break, she slipped into the hallway behind the main floor, heart racing. She leaned against the wall, trying to breathe.
"What are you doing back here?"
The voice startled her. A man stood in the shadows—a bouncer or staff, maybe. His tone wasn't kind.
"Just catching my breath," she said quickly. "I didn't know this hallway was off limits."
He didn't answer. Just studied her.
And then, without another word, walked off.
Ayla stood there, shaken.
She didn't belong in this world.
But someone here had already decided she would stay.