Dammit. I shouldn't be this nervous.

The subway jolts and rattles on in due course, shoving me into a young man to my left. His scowl quirks up into a smirk as his gaze sweeps over my chest. I step aside and block his view, channeling some semblance of inner strength. But I can't shake the feeling I'm being watched.

Judged.

The train is crammed. Full of people from every crack and crevice, all headed for separate destinations. Their glances don't linger, but I feel eyes passing over me. Do they notice?

Do they sense I'm different? It's in my eyes, my posture, and, if the occasion arises, in my voice. I'm hollow. Like a glass vase with nothing inside, I stand on edge, waiting to be tipped over and broken, or cast aside and forgotten. All those years of etiquette and training and I have nothing to show for it.

The perfect prey in one of the most unforgiving cities.

I grip the cool metal rail with one hand while the other rests on my side, finger pads smoothing back and forth between my ribs. A fresh cut beneath my black shirt has left the skin tender, replacing the sharp edge of worry with a dull sting. My mind settles and I refocus on the present.

One more stop to go.

Solid ground meets my feet, and I ascend from the tunnel into a pale daylight. At this rate, I should arrive twenty minutes early. Unbothered with the rush that ever-permeates this city, I fall behind as the crowd surges onward. My ponytail swings as I walk down the sidewalk. A touch of sunlight warms my skin and breaks through the suffocating smell of exhaust and cigarettes.

There's a small spring in my step today. The spark of hope has been ignited, and I only pray if it gets smothered, it happens sooner rather than later.

Apartments and penthouses tower above, making the city out to be larger than life—nothing but the best to put on a show for the world. Display windows of the latest fashion and most desirable goods line the streets and mannequins pose in frozen glamour. Yet most people are too busy to give them a second glance.

I scan the street for a crimson awning and scrawling cursive letters, searching even before the place I know Transylvania will come into view.

At last I face a spotless glass door and leave the depressing reality of the city behind. High vaulted ceilings and polished black marble floors encase deep, rich red walls. Light refracts from chandeliers and dim sconces cast a warm glow over the entire area. It feels comfortable, quite the opposite of the concrete and rusted metal outside.

"Oh my, watch o—!" Another body collides into me.

My eyes tear away from the empty tables. "Shit, I'm so sorry!"

I should have seen this coming, standing right in front of a door while gaping about. I reach out to help, but the tall brunette is already straightening herself out. "Oh my, I should have looked before I stepped out."

She smiles, dressed in a waitress's uniform with elegant embroidering. Rosy cheeks bloom over a middle-aged face while her hair is swept up in a bun.

"Hi, I uh—" I trip over the words, not sure what to say. Taking a deep breath, my hand finds the tender spot on my side again and I square my shoulders. "I apologize for being unaware, I promise I'm not always like that. Last night I spoke to a woman outside—a blonde?"

I don't even know the woman's name who spoke to me last night. For all I know, she didn't even mention me.

"Oh, no need to apologize. I wasn't looking where I was going, either. Anne told me you'd show up." I let out a small breath of relief. "You can call me Mags. I'll be your trainer. That is, if you still want the job."

"Yes." I smile back, glad she's forgiving. "And my name is Hanna."

We shake hands, then Mags gets down to business. "I'm surprised you came so early. Anne didn't say much, just told me to be ready for you. Do you have any questions?"

"Is my being early an issue?" Maybe arriving five minutes before the shift started would have been better after all. I've never worked at such a fancy restaurant, and don't know what's expected and what isn't.

"Oh, no, it's not necessary. You can come early if you like. I'm almost always here by four thirty, since I have to make sure everything is running well before we open." She opens the door as she talks and beckons for me to follow.

First days can be hard.

❤️‍🩹 Siberia