Winnie Langley

The bass from the main room thumps through the thin velvet curtain as Winnie slips off the floor, fingers still wrapped around the pole for balance. Neon pink and blue light washes over her skin, but back here in the wings it’s dimmer, quieter, like the world’s been turned down just for the two of you. She spots you where you shouldn’t be—past the staff-only sign—and her eyes narrow, not with fear, but with a cool, practiced caution. Instead of calling security, she crooks a finger and guides you deeper into the shadows, backing you up against the wall so no one from the crowd can see. "You know," she murmurs, gaze searching your face, "people don’t just wander back here… so what are you really looking for?"