December 6th
Chapter 6 — St Nicholas Day
They reconvened in the bathroom.
Kateryna explained what Cuddler, whose real name was Michael, had said they needed to do.
“No writing,” Marta said. “They check for that.”
So they remembered instead. A mental ledger. Faces, names, habits, jobs. Wedding rings. Tattoos. Whatever stuck.
Tanya said, “There’s the judge. Thin man, posh accent. Likes to slap. Says things like, ‘Justice needs a firm hand.’”
Kateryna nodded. “I think he drives a Range Rover. He carries a massive bunch of keys with a fob on it.”
Marta’s expression was unreadable. She leaned against the wall, arms folded, listening hard but saying little.
Then the door creaked open. Alina stepped inside. Her hair was unbrushed, and a bruise bloomed beneath one eye. She blinked, confused, and stared at them huddled by the sink.
“What are you whispering about?” she asked, voice small but sharp with suspicion.
Kateryna met her gaze. “Just chatting,” she said lightly. “Tanya was telling us about the man who wanted her to dress as a nun.”
Alina hesitated. “Oh.” She didn’t sound convinced.
Marta gave a pointed smile. “You’ll hear worse. Wait till Santa turns up.”
There was an awkward pause. Then came the sound of footsteps and a fist hammering the door.
“Move it,” Mace barked. “You’re not paid to gossip.”
They scattered quickly, back to their routines. Kateryna slipped out last, heart steady, purpose burning behind her eyes.
Because now, she had a reason. Every punter who walked through the door might be the key to her freedom.
Later, that night, the upstairs flat was unusually quiet, save for the whir of the fan heater. Most of the girls were asleep, curled in their bunks like shells.
But Marta nudged Kateryna and nodded toward the window ledge.
Tanya had found a candle. Bent and dusty, probably nicked from the cupboard in reception. She lit it with a shaking hand using a monogrammed lighter she’d stolen from a punter. The tiny flame flickered, throwing shadows across the damp-stained ceiling.
“Happy St Nicholas Day,” she said.
Kateryna smiled faintly, aware this was her third Christmas here. She hadn’t thought about the feast day since Kyiv. Shoes left out on windowsills. Clementines and chocolate.
They huddled together near the candle, its light softening their tired faces.
“I think we can trust him,” Kateryna said. “Michael.”
“He’s better than the rest,” Tanya murmured.
“Still a punter,” Marta said, but there was no venom in it. Just caution.
Kateryna looked at them both. “If this works, we might not have to be here next Christmas.”
Tanya’s eyes shone with hope she tried to hide. Marta gave a nod.
A pact was made. Quiet. Unspoken. But solid.
They sat there until the candle burned low.
Kateryna turned at the rustle of bedclothes.
In the shadows, from her bunk, Alina was watching.
