The digital clock on the bedside table read 5:00 AM.
The Navarro estate was tomb-silent. The heavy blackout curtains of the guest wing absorbed the dawn, leaving the room submerged in an artificial, breathless midnight.
Yanna stood in the center of the room. She was not wearing the latex bodysuit. She was not wearing the white sundress.
She was wearing a traditional, heavy cotton martial arts gi.
It was stark white, stiff, and abrasive against her skin. The jacket hung open slightly, the rough fabric chafing against her sensitive nipples, reminding her of the emptiness beneath. A black belt was tied rigidly around her waist, sitting just above the fresh C.N. tattoo that scabbed and pulled with every micro-movement of her hips.
She felt the cold silver of the collar at her throat. She felt the heavy, black steel ring on her finger. She felt the T-bar piercing nestled in her flesh, a constant, throbbing anchor.
The door opened.
