Back in the room, everything was lavender-scented and sinister. Daphne had changed into silk pajamas that probably cost more than a car, lit a candle that smelled like betrayal wrapped in ylang-ylang, and was now sitting cross-legged on her bed like we were two besties at a boarding school for sociopaths.
“Face mask?” she asked sweetly, holding up a little sachet like it wasn’t poisoned.
I blinked. “I’m allergic to fake friendliness.”
She laughed. “You’re funny.”
I stared at her. She stared at me. The candle flickered like it knew things.
I retreated into the bathroom with my travel toothbrush and an overwhelming urge to scream into the sink. I brushed like my mouth had sinned. The mirror reflected back a girl who had been emotionally accosted by a man in the woods and was now sleepin
