The studio was almost empty, the last of the corps de ballet already gone. Only the low work-lights remained, throwing long shadows across the sprung floor and turning the wall of mirrors into a dark, endless corridor of reflections. Elena stood alone at the barre, one hand resting on the wood still warm from a hundred other palms, watching the door. She had dismissed everyone else an hour ago. Everyone except the one she had asked to stay.
Valeria walked in without knocking, the door clicking shut behind her like the closing of a trap. She wore the regulation black leotard and pale pink tights, but the fabric looked different on her body, stretched too tight across full breasts, clinging to the flare of her hips, the long sweep of her thighs. Her hair was twisted up in a careless knot, d
