The club didn’t have a name, just a neon sign that read OPEN in flickering pink and a door that led to a staircase that led to a basement that led to another world entirely. Lena had heard about it from a woman she’d met at a gallery opening — a photographer with silver hair and a tattoo of a compass on her wrist who’d said, “If you want to remember what desire feels like, go to the place with no name.”