Bastián stood in the doorway like he owned the air in the room.
The bathroom felt too small for him, too warm, and too quiet. His eyes went straight to the blood on my shirt, then to the cloth in my hand, then back to my face. His expression changed so fast it almost slipped past me, but I saw it. The cold was still there, yes, but something darker moved under it now.
It wasn't surprise or anger.
I kept my hand over my shoulder and took one step back from the sink. The door was still open behind him, and the hall beyond it was full of quiet that felt one breath away from breaking. One of the guards was somewhere outside. I could hear him shifting his weight, but he didn’t come in.
Bastián did.
He crossed the room in two silent steps and stopped in front of me.
“Take your hand away,”
