The ceiling fan turned unevenly above him, each rotation carrying a slight hitch that made the rhythm just off enough to notice.
Malcolm watched it without really following the motion.
One arm rested behind his head, the other draped loosely across his stomach, a cigarette burning between his fingers. Smoke drifted upward, thinning as it reached the blades and broke apart.
The Blonde lady lay beside him, her arm across his chest, breathing slow and steady. The room held the quiet of a place that didn't expect anything from the people inside it. Thin walls let the distant noise of the district seep through in muted fragments, bass reduced to a dull thump, voices blurred into something indistinct.
He'd been here over three hours.
He wasn't relaxed.
He was still.
The cigarette burned down to the filter before he stubbed it out in the tray on the nightstand. He lay there for another second, then shifted, sliding out from under her arm carefully enough not to wake her fully.
He dressed without hesitation. Shirt first. Then pants. Movements efficient, practiced, not something he needed to think about.
Behind him, the bed shifted.
The woman pushed herself up on one elbow, eyes half-open. "You're leaving already?"
Malcolm glanced back, reaching for his jacket. "You're asking that after three hours." He zipped it up. "You're trying to drain me dry."
She huffed a quiet laugh, voice rough with sleep. "Thought that was the point."
"You were thorough though I'll give you that."
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded stack of cash, and dropped it on the bed beside her.
She blinked at it, then at him, waking more fully. "I already got paid."
"Just count it."
Her brows pulled together as she picked it up, flipping through the bills once, then again, slower.
"…This is—"
"Twenty," he said.
She looked at him properly now.
Tall. Lean. Young. Nothing about him that read as dangerous in the obvious ways she was used to spotting. No aggression. No attempt to dominate the space.
And yet nothing uncertain either.
No hesitation.
She couldn't place him.
"Why," she said.
"Would you mind if i asked for your name?" He placed the question completely ignoring her's
"I usually go by my work name, Ruby." She paused, meeting his gaze, which made it clear he wasn't satisfied with her answer. "But you can call me... Eva," she added after only a brief hesitation.
Malcolm slid his wallet back into his pocket. "Can I ask you something, Eva?"
She stilled slightly at the use of her name, then shrugged. "Sure."
"You satisfied with your life?"
Her expression hardened immediately. "I'm doing quite fine."
He sighed, realizing the misunderstanding. "Not like that."
She gave him a look that said she didn't believe him.
"I mean it," he said. "You're good at what you do. Better than most."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, wary.
"You read people fast," he continued. "You adjust without making it obvious you're adjusting. You know how to hold a room without pushing for it." He shrugged once. "That's not... entry-level."
She shifted, the sheet tightening slightly in her grip. "Flattery doesn't usually come with a tip like this."
"I'm not flattering you."
"Then what are you doing?"
"Telling you you're operating below your tier."
She let out a short laugh, sharp and skeptical. "And you're here to fix that?"
"Yes."
The answer landed without pause.
She studied him, searching for the angle. "Right. Of course you are."
"I can give you more than what you're doing now," he said, voice steady. "More control. More leverage."
"Power," she said, mocking.
"Yes."
That made her pause.
He stepped closer, not enough to crowd her, just enough to keep her attention. "Not the kind you're used to. Not something people decide to feel."
Her fingers tightened slightly in the sheet.
"Something that happens before they get the chance to think about it," he continued. "You walk into a room and they already trust you. Already want you. Already feel like being near you makes sense."
Her breathing shifted, almost imperceptibly.
"It feels natural to them," he said. "Like their idea. Not yours. All that power in the palm of your hands."
She swallowed once. "And you can just… do that."
"I can."
She looked down at the money in her hand, then back up at him. "How powerful are we talking."
Malcolm held her gaze for a second.
"Powerful enough to take a life with a kiss and more," he said.
The room went still.
He reached into his wallet again, pulling out a card and placing it in her hand.
It was heavier than it looked. Black, metallic, the surface cool against her skin. Gold etching caught the light as she turned it slightly, forming a pattern she couldn't immediately make sense of.
Below it, a single word.
Illuminati.
Malcolm stepped back toward the door. "You've got options, Eva."
She didn't look up.
"Twenty thousand on the bed," he said. "The door back out there." He nodded toward the wall, toward the district beyond it. "And that."
She turned the card once more, the gold catching the light again.
"I'm not selling you anything," he continued. "I was looking for someone worth asking."
He reached the door, hand on the handle.
"You are."
He opened it and stepped out, closing it quietly behind him.
The room settled back into itself.
Eva sat on the bed, the sheet pulled loosely around her. The cash rested within reach, untouched.
The card stayed in her hand.
She turned it again, slower this time.
The gold lettering caught the light.
Her expression didn't resolve.
The room didn't change.