Elian didn't pay much attention to the other courtesans at first. They had always been a distant hum in the background of his life at the Pavilion.
He was too wrapped up in his thoughts of Izan, too lost in the way his heart seemed to beat faster every time the merchant appeared.
But as the days passed, something shifted. The tension in the Pavilion became clearly visible, a subtle but growing discomfort that Elian couldn't quite ignore anymore.
It started with the stares, those lingering gazes that seemed to burn holes into his skin. At first, he thought it was just his imagination. But the longer he stayed in a room, the colder the other courtesans' eyes became. Their laughter, once a background noise he barely registered, now seemed sharper, more pointed, like knives disguised as amusement.
