Amber
The GPS led us to a sleek glass building with gilded signage and a cascading water feature outside. The front said Silva Luxe Spa in shimmering calligraphy.
“This can’t be it,” I said.
Ichika parked the car and slid her sunglasses off. “This is it. Let’s go inside.”
I hesitated, but followed her inside.
For such a high-class spa, the place was surprisingly busy. The scent of floral oils and burning citrus-sage candles clung to the air, a calming contrast to the bustling energy within. I watched women and men alike, from all walks of life, lounging in robes, faces half-covered in multicolored masks, cucumbers perched on eyelids, or nails painted with impossible precision. Soft jazz played from unseen speakers, blending with the low murmur of conversation, the occasional hum of a facial steamer, and the clinking of glassware from refreshments being served.
A well-dressed Beta woman with sleek black hair and almond skin approached us. Her heels clicked against the marble tiles, and
