Nevara
The bath was hot—almost too hot, but I didn’t care. The soaking tub was deep enough to drown in, and for the first time in days, I didn’t feel cold. The steam softened everything—the bruises, the rage, the confusion. I sank in and let it all go, one breath at a time.
Afterward, I found a robe—plush, white, and soft enough to make me gasp. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed simple things. Comfort. Warmth. Clean skin and clean towels. Even the scent—lavender and something woodsy—felt luxurious.
Back in the room, the tray on the table still waited, the food still warm. Meat, roasted vegetables, fresh bread with herbed butter. I didn’t bother asking how. I just ate.
I even turned on the TV—curiosity winning over pride. A screen mounted to the far wall blinked to life with a quiet
