I shower anyway.
The water is hot—perfectly hot, adjustable to the exact temperature I prefer—and I stand under the spray for longerthan I need to. Letting it cascade over my shoulders, my back, the knots of tension that have taken up permanent residence in my muscles.
One-two-three-four.
My toes tap against the tile floor.
One-two-three-four.
The counting helps.
Always helps.
Keeps the chaos contained while I process the absolute disaster my life has become in the last twenty-four hours.
I finish eventually.
Dry off with towels that are obscenely soft.
Pull on the pink pajamas—pants and a button-up top, modest but comfortable—and run my fingers through my hair until it's somewhat manageable.
No point styling it.
No point pretending to be anything other than what I am: a girl who almost died and is now wandering through enemy territory in borrowed clothes.
I leave the bathroom.
Cross the bedroom.
Open the door.
The hallway beyond is just as luxurious as everything else—polished floors, tasteful artwork on the walls, the kind of understated elegance that screamsold money. Sconces provide soft lighting at regular intervals, casting warm pools of illumination that guide the way.
I don't have my blades.
The realization surfaces as I step into the corridor, and I wait for the panic to come.
It doesn't.
If they wanted me dead, I'd be dead.
The mantra has become strangely comforting.
I start walking.
My bare feet are silent on the marble—years of ballet training making me naturally light-footed, incapable of clomping around even when I'm not actively trying to be stealthy. The corridor stretches ahead of me, doors on either side, all of them closed.
I follow the scent.
It's easy to track now that I know what I'm looking for—that particular combination of spiced leather and dark rum that belongs to Kai. It's stronger in some areas, fainter in others, leaving a trail through the house like breadcrumbs leading somewhere specific.
The last thing I saw before I lost consciousness.
His eyes.
Dark gold, shot through with amber, watching me with an expression I couldn't read.
Did he believe me?
