I walk down the corridor, reeling and numbed, to the same room where the men ordered us to take off our clothes. The girls are sitting there, silent and shrunken, bowls of broth with chicken and vegetables, and warm bread, potatoes and cola in front of them. ‘You must eat,’ Magda says. ‘Keep your strength up.’ She goes to the door and looks into the corridor, and when she’s certain no one can hear her, she says, ‘They won’t come near you now.’

I can tell the girls don’t know whether to trust her, and they’re finding it hard to swallow, but the soup is good. Magda is telling the truth: this place is only alive with men after dark.

‘Girls,’ she says. They tense, shoulders high to their ears, legs crossed, arms in front of their breasts. ‘You will have to pay Bardhok back. Five euros each time a man does what he wants with you. You can start counting.’

‘How long?’ a girl, who seems to be older than the rest, says to Magda. ‘Can we start counting from last night?’

‘Yes,’ Magda says. ‘You started last night.’

‘Ten men on the first night,’ the girl says, startling herself by laughing, ‘how many nights is that?’

One of the girls from the car speaks. ‘How will he know how many men we are with? He can’t know where we all are.’

Magda looks at her closely. ‘That man knows everything that goes on in here,’ she says. ‘You will buy your freedom. I know.’

‘Five euros. Fuck, that’s cheap,’ the older girl says. ‘How much exactly do we owe?’

‘Whatever you were sold for, and interest.’

The room is silent as the other girls try to understand what ten men a night will mean for however long it will take to get to however much they owe. They look at Magda and think: she is alive, she looks no different to anyone else, she wears pretty clothes and has a husband; they look at Magda and tell themselves it will be over soon; they look at Magda and they hate her and they envy her; they look at Magda and they want to bury their heads against her chest; they look at Magda and they want to scream at her and hit her; they look at Magda and they wonder how many of them will be her. She stands and claps her hands, gestures at us to follow her, leading us to the back room. I try to catch her eye, but she looks away as she closes the door behind her, locking us in.

‘Why didn’t you come with us last night?’ the older girl says. ‘Where did that woman take you?’

I shrug. ‘Same as you,’ I say, not knowing why I’m lying. ‘Ten men.’

‘Have you even started bleeding?’ she asks.

I look down at the ground.

‘You look like a child,’ she says.