At the very end, Black Angel leaned down and whispered four words into Katy’s ear. Her voice was a low contralto, rough as gravel and smooth as honey:

Tears slipped from Katy’s closed eyes. She hadn’t cried in four years.

Katy scrolled past smiling, generic headshots until she reached the bottom. One profile had no photo. Just a name: Black Angel . And a single review: "She does not speak. She listens with her hands."

MassageRooms: 24 10 29