My scream dies in my throat as the lock on the changing room door shatters.
CRACK.
Wood splinters fly across the cream carpet. The door swings open, hitting the wall with a violence that shakes the mirrors.
It’s not the intruder. It’s not Caterina.
Stavros fills the doorway.
He looks like he sprinted from the car. His chest is heaving, his tie is crooked, and his gun is drawn, scanning the room in a blur of lethal motion. He spots me standing frozen in the white gown. Then his eyes snap to the mirror. To the jagged red letters dripping down the glass.
Red looks better on you than white.
His face goes deadly calm. A terrifying, blank mask that is worse than any shouting. He holsters the gun and crosses the room in two long strides.
"Did he touch you?"
His voice is low, vibrating wi
