When she finishes, she holds up the paper. I drift closer, examining the names and the faces. Even sketched in haste, her drawings are beautiful. Dispassionately, Tila gives each name, a short description, and a few key personal details about each person. I feel the information sink into the deep recesses of my brain. As soon as I see these faces in the real world, I’ll recognize them.

Officer Oloyu asks her to then sketch and describe the most common clients to frequent the club, especially those she’s worked with most often.

At this she finally starts to look concerned. She hides it well enough. But not from me. “This is for Taema. You’re putting her undercover, aren’t you?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“When you first took me in, you told me you were putting her in protective custody. You can’t do this. Going undercover is too dangerous for her.”

I can’t help but bristle. She thinks I’m soft.

Oloyu’s mouth twists. “Why? Because of what you’ve done as part of the Ratel?”

She scoffs. “Nice try. No confessions.”

“We already know irrefutably you worked with them. There’s no need to be coy. So why isn’t your sister allowed to go undercover?”

“So she is undercover.” Her eyes are bright with triumph.

Oloyu’s mouth twists as he bites down a curse.

“Gotcha.” Tila smirks and bends over the paper. Again, the strange fast-forwarding as she draws, me unable to turn my “eyes” away from the quick movements of her fingers holding the pencil. Again, the sketches of men and women appear, their names, their habits, their dreams and desires find a place deep within my mind. I won’t forget any of them, even though, if I’d been awake, I’d probably forget about a third of the names.

Officer Oloyu asks my sister more questions, ones that I suspect Nazarin has given him. What is the layout of the club? What sort of food is served? Music played? Cocktail menu? Most popular liquor? A lot of it seems unnecessary. I’m only going to be at the club for an hour or two at most, speaking to the owner, Sal, and to Leylani, the girl who was meant to be entertaining Vuk that night. Still, everything goes into my memory bank.

At the beginning my sister fights back, toying with Oloyu and giving flippant answers. Then she seems to tire of the game and gives him the answers he asks for. By the time the questions end, Tila’s visibly wilted, her voice hoarse. Officer Oloyu thanks her for her time. But before she leaves, she looks at the camera.

It seems like she’s looking right at me.

“I don’t need saving, Taema,” she says. “You don’t have to do this for me. And maybe you shouldn’t.”

I can’t read her, and it hurts.