She nods, wiping her eyes. She gives a last sniff and then goes to the mirror to fix her makeup. I sit there silently, waiting for her to finish. When she’s done, I give her another hug. She clings close to me.

“It’ll be all right,” I say to her.

“You can’t promise that,” she whispers, and I stifle a gasp. It’s exactly what Tila said to me on Thursday night.

“No,” I say with a sigh, thinking of my sister in jail—with me as her only hope. “I can’t promise that at all.”

*   *   *

When Leylani and I return to the tables, our work faces are back in place. Leylani smiles brightly, kissing Sarah on the cheek before going up to get more drinks. I settle next to Nazarin again, brushing my elbow against his.

He leans close, pressing his hand against my cheek. “Find out anything interesting?” he murmurs in my ear. I smile demurely at him, nodding. He takes another sip of his drink.

We only stay a few more hours, and it exhausts me. I don’t know how Tila does it, staying switched “on” for so long, vigilant for every client’s needs. I follow the others, offering cigs and drinks. Later on, we dance, Nazarin holding me close, the bass thumping through my metal ribcage, his hands warm on my waist. I speak to Pallua casually, but if she knows anything about what happened on Thursday, she doesn’t let it slip.

I’ve drunk enough SynthGin that by the end of “my” shift, the world is fuzzy around the edges. Sal has told everyone this is Echo’s last shift, and I bid everyone sloppy farewells, saying I’ll send them pings from China and I’ll miss them all. I lean on Nazarin as we take our leave. There are a few raised eyebrows at Echo leaving with a client.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your time at Zenith,” Pallua says to him as we pass the front counter.

Nazarin reaches into his pocket, grabbing a handful of credits and passing them to her. They disappear into her dress.

“Oh, it’s been a cut above,” he says to her, slurring his words very slightly, before we saunter out into the night.

*   *   *

We take the MUNI back to the safe house. The green light of the tunnels makes me feel ill and I bury my head in Nazarin’s shoulder. Whatever his cologne is, it smells nice. He puts his arm around me. Are we still playing a part, or is he genuinely comforting me? I don’t know, and in that moment I don’t care.