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The hotel room’s bathtub has hit that age where the mildew has conquered the grout more thoroughly than any amount of bleach and scrubbing can counter, but my two minutes in the shower still feel like heaven. I haven’t had a bath since before getting my hands on the Grand Duke. I’ve been in Detroit’s mugginess since this morning, but my nose still welcomes the steam after Arizona’s appalling dryness.
The water washes away more than sweat.
It takes strain, and stress, and worry. These moments of caring for myself take away the irritation that Sister Silence hasn’t called to tell me where the money I sent Father went. Maybe I don’t have to sucker punch Will, but Ayaka? There’s nothing to prove there. I’ll shoot her from the back without a flinch. My doubts and uncertainty and fear swir
