Page 252 of Black Reign

Hot water rolls over my shoulders and washes London, fear, concrete dust, dried blood, and three false identities down the drain.

Black dye from one of the temporary hair products disappears in thin ribbons around my feet.

When I'm finished, there is no Jenny.

No blonde from California.

No woman in muddy contacts.

Just Sabine.

I stand beneath the water until it begins cooling.

Then I dry off and pull on Xavier's robe.

It swallows me.

I cinch the belt firmly around my waist and push the sleeves up enough to keep them from dragging over my bandaged wrists.

My hair is another problem entirely.

Clean and damp, it does what it has always done when I stop fighting it.

Curls.

Not neat curls.

Big spiraling caramel ones that tumble down my back and around my shoulders like they have been personally offended by every wig I've forced them under for the past month.

I stare at myself in the mirror.

No makeup.

No contacts.

Bruised jaw.

Split lip.

Bare feet.

Xavier Blackwell is about to see the least engineered version of me that exists.

Suddenly I'd rather face the kidnappers again.

Ridiculous.

I open the door.

Xavier is standing near the dining table with his back half turned to me, speaking quietly into his phone.

“No names. Deliver through the private entrance.”

He ends the call.

Turns.

And stops.