Tracy’s POV
The bathroom should have been a sanctuary. Steam curled lazily through the air, clinging to marble so polished it reflected light like water. Oh gracious! The gold fixtures gleamed softly, and it was clear they were untouched by fingerprints.
The space smelled faintly of eucalyptus and expensive soap, that kind of scent designed to suggest calm, safety, and luxury.
But the moment the door clicked shut and the lock slid into place, the mask cracked.
Not shattered, no, that would have been very messy. Just a precise fracture, clean and controlled.
I stood very still, facing the floor-to-ceiling mirror, and stared at the woman reflected there.
She looked. . . Uhrr. . . pitiful.
Dirt smudged the pale skin at her throat, darkened where sweat had dried. Her hair hung in limp,
