The room was large. Furnished in a way that cost money, not the loud, obvious kind of wealth but the quieter kind, where everything was well-made and nothing was unnecessary. Heavy curtains pulled half-shut over a tall window. A low chair in the corner with a folded blanket draped over its arm. A door on the far wall, and another one left slightly ajar that showed the edge of a tiled bathroom.
Nothing about it looked like a brothel.
That thought did not settle her the way it might have. She had woken up in a room she did not recognise after being knocked unconscious and moved without her knowledge, and the fact that it was a well-furnished room told her nothing about why she was in it. It told her nothing about what had already happened while she was not awake to account for herself, and it told her nothing about what came next.
