Winter
The streets of Redmond were far from what Winter had imagined—seedy, yes, but with a vibrancy and liveliness that belied the grim nature of the trade that flourished there. Narrow alleyways snaked through the heart of Carambay, their cobblestone paths slick with moisture from the day's rain, reflecting the flickering glow of gas lamps. The air was thick with the scent of incense, spiced wine, and a bitter undercurrent of desperation.
Winter pulled her hood tighter, shielding herself from the chill as she ventured deeper into the maze of shadowy streets. She had been given countless wrong directions, most of them from people who either didn't care or didn't want to acknowledge the existence of such a place. Finally, after what felt like an endless journey, she found the brothel house Marissa had taken over. Its name was barely visible, etched in chipped gold lettering on a sagging wooden sign.
