Before the big moment

By mid-afternoon, Aurora had rotated through the dressing room, the costume closet, and the makeup station. Gia said little, but she let Aurora borrow a pair of gloves from her personal stash—black satin with tiny crystal studs. Kim showed her where the emergency sewing kits were stored. Ariana watched her like a cat watching a bird but offered a half-hearted tip about stage lighting and shimmer placement.

The walls that stood that morning were thinner by dusk.

At one point, Aurora found herself seated between Skyler and Kim at the bar, sharing black coffee and almond pastries from a box someone had brought in. Jeremiah passed behind the counter, wiping glasses, while Lisa typed away at the register.

“You learning fast,” Kim said without looking at her.

Aurora glanced sideways. “Trying.”

Skyler nudged her lightly. “You’re doing more than trying. You’re keeping up. That’s rare.”

“You ever get scared?” Aurora asked, her voice low.

Skyler looked thoughtful. “All the time. But I’ve learned something… when the stage lights hit, they can’t see the fear. They only see the shine.”

Aurora nodded, holding the words close.

By the time the evening shift rolled around, Vanessa dismissed her from any serving duties to let her rest. “You’ve earned it,” she said. “Take the night. Watch the show. Breathe it in.”

Aurora returned to her room just as the velvet curtains opened again on Gia’s performance. She sat by her window, the sound of applause drifting in through the thin walls, and closed her eyes.

She could still feel the click of the heels. The weight of the gloves. The hum of the music rising in her chest.

For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was pretending to belong.

She just… did.

And somewhere inside her—under the layers of stolen memories and silent grief—Aurora felt the first bloom of something dangerous and sweet.

Hope.

Later on the night had settled heavy over Las Vegas by the time the final curtain dropped. The applause was long gone, replaced by the hush that followed every storm. Even La Rosa Muerta—usually humming with after-hours life—had fallen into a rare, deep silence. Somewhere in the building, a vacuum hummed softly. Distant laughter floated from the dancers’ lounge. But in Aurora’s small studio, the stillness felt almost too loud.

Sleep wouldn’t come.

She lay in bed, arms folded under her head, staring at the ceiling. Her body was tired but her mind was full—full of steps and voices, of heels on polished wood and the feeling of Skyler’s hand on her back when she stumbled and stood up smiling.

She needed air.

Aurora slipped on her hoodie and crept through the dim hallway, quiet as a breath. She passed the dressing rooms where feathered boas and sequins were slung over chairs like discarded armor. The whole club felt like it had exhaled for the first time all day.

She didn’t expect to find Skyler at the end of the hall, standing barefoot by the fire exit with a bottle of cheap red wine dangling from one hand and a blanket thrown around her shoulders.

Skyler turned, surprised but not startled. Her curls were loose, tumbling around her face, and the stage makeup had been wiped away. She looked softer in the shadows—still beautiful, but human now. Not a goddess in heels, but a woman with tired eyes and bare feet.

“Can’t sleep either?” Skyler asked, nodding toward the door.

“Not even close,” Aurora admitted.

Skyler smirked and pushed the door open, holding it for her. “Come on. I know a better view.”

They climbed a narrow metal staircase to the flat rooftop above the club. The city stretched below them in a sprawl of light and shadow, neon pulsing like blood through the veins of a living thing. Wind tugged at Aurora’s hair as they stepped out into the open.

Skyler dropped the blanket in the center of the roof and sat cross-legged, pulling the bottle to her lips before offering it over.

Aurora took a sip, wincing. “This is horrible.”

“I know,” Skyler grinned. “It’s the best kind.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching the skyline shimmer. A plane blinked across the sky, too far away to hear. Aurora pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them.

“It’s like the city never stops breathing,” she murmured.

“It doesn’t,” Skyler said. “But up here, it can’t reach you.”

Aurora turned her head slightly. “Is this where you come when you need space?”

Skyler nodded. “That, or the bathtub. But the rooftop doesn’t judge you if you cry.”

Aurora let out a soft laugh, then went quiet. The wine had burned away her nerves, but the air felt safe enough to speak.

“Thank you… for today.”

Skyler looked at her, eyes steady. “You did good.”

“I felt like I was failing every five minutes.”

“Then you’re learning,” Skyler said, smiling. “You think we’re all born with perfect struts and glittered thighs? Hell no. I faceplanted my first night in heels. Gia nearly peed herself laughing.”

Aurora grinned at the thought. “She scares me a little.”

“She scares everyone a little. Even Vanessa. But she’s loyal… in her own dramatic way.”

Another breeze passed over them. The blanket rustled. Skyler tucked it tighter around her shoulders.

“You want to know a secret?” she asked.

Aurora nodded.

“I wasn’t supposed to be a dancer,” Skyler said quietly. “I was a preschool teacher. Back in Arizona.”

Aurora blinked. “No way.”

“Yeah. I had the cardigan collection and everything. Bright smile. Lesson plans. The whole bit.” Her voice grew softer. “But then my sister got sick. And our insurance didn’t cover half of it. So I took a night gig at a cabaret to cover the bills. Just for a month.”

“And then?”

“She passed. And I didn’t go back.” Skyler looked out at the city. “Not because I gave up. But because the stage… it gave me something I didn’t know I needed. Power. Expression. A way to move through grief without saying a word.”

Aurora’s voice came out quieter than she meant. “I’m sorry about your sister.”

Skyler shrugged, her fingers wrapped tight around the wine bottle. “She was the brave one. She used to sing in church, always louder than the choir. She would’ve loved a place like this. She would’ve run the damn stage.”

“You honor her here,” Aurora said softly.

Skyler looked at her, surprised.

Then nodded. “Yeah. I try.”

They sat quietly again. A few sirens wailed somewhere far off, swallowed by the desert air.

“You know,” Skyler said eventually, turning her head toward Aurora, “most girls who come here have something they’re running from.”

Aurora didn’t reply. She stared out at the horizon, her throat tight.

“I’m not asking,” Skyler added gently. “You don’t have to tell me anything. But if there’s ever a night where it gets too heavy—come find me. I’ve got more wine. And better blankets.”

Aurora smiled through the sting behind her eyes. “Thank you.”

Skyler nudged her shoulder playfully. “Now get some sleep. Big day tomorrow. You’re gonna learn how to walk with a boa and not trip over your own dignity.”

“I’ll wear knee pads,” Aurora murmured.