Slowly, she descended the stairs, heading straight toward the bar where she carefully dropped her tray before asking for an excuse to head for the toilet. Her voice was steady, but her hands were not, her fingers still tingling from the rush of adrenaline that refused to leave her body.
The restroom was in a different part of the club, down a long corridor that felt quieter the farther she walked. The music dulled slightly with each step, replaced by the hum of hidden lights and the faint echo of voices behind closed doors.
She was surprised to see that there was a huge and clearly marked section for men and another that led toward a separate corridor for women. The signs were polished metal, reflecting the dim light like mirrors.
Instantly, she chose the one for women, heading inside with no particular intention other than to wash her hands and calm her racing heart.
