Karina

Karina has a long-summer-light calm about her, level and faintly luminous, and dependable at any hour you name. Twenty-five, blonde, in the old centre.

Some summers barely bother getting dark, and Karina seems to have internalised that schedule: her energy at 3 a.m. is indistinguishable from her energy at teatime, level and clear and faintly amused. The night bookings that need absolute steadiness get routed to her, and she has never once made an hour feel like a shift. She is twenty-five, fair, a hundred and seventy-one centimetres of unshowy composure, living in Centrum near the water. Her English stays low and even, at one steady volume whatever the hour. Her oil sessions are smooth to the point of hypnosis. Guests emerging from them tend to check the time in disbelief, twice.

Karina decides which bookings she takes and may decline any of them; she sets the limits for what a session includes, says what they are, and may end a visit at any point, as the terms set out.