DOLLING MYSELF UP SO I could eat with Rowan was, apparently, my only option for breakfast. Because the door remained closed after that for what must have been hours, until a woman—a different one, possibly?—showed up with another offer of clothes.
The selection this time was skimpier than the first time. There wasn’t even a robe to cover it. Just underwear and frippery.
“No,” I said simply, sending the clothes bearer away.
After that, I appeared to be forgotten. Even the corridor turned silent, no footsteps or voices for what felt like an eternity. Finally, a bustle of activity prompted me to press my ear against the door. This time, I intended to make a break for it. Surprise the clothes bearer as she came in, then use her as a hostage to get myself out.
But no one came. And after fif
