Reese's POV
Thirty minutes later, my heartbeat is almost steady again.
I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, my hair damp from a quick shower I did, the towel I used to dry it clinging to my hand. The scent of mint soap smells faintly in the air — fresh, clean, and mercifully human after the chaos that nearly swallowed me earlier.
A knock comes at the door. Sharp and quick. I tense instantly.
“Come in,” I manage, my voice still rough.
The door creaks open, and to my surprise, it’s **Rosabelle** — back already, her sleek black coat glinting faintly under the hallway light. She looks every bit the composed head woman she is, lips painted crimson, hair tied in a sharp ponytail, phone clutched in one hand. Her presence alone grounds the room, slicing through the fog that’s been clouding my
