Julian stepped back into her award room, his eyes finding her immediately dark, serious, weighted with something that looked almost like grief. He crossed the space between them quietly and crouched so he was level with her.
“Zara,” he said, her name barely above a whisper.
She didn’t look up.
“I know how hard it is to look at yourself and not recognize the face staring back.” He paused, choosing his next words the way a surgeon chooses an instrument. “But I can change that. I can give you a new face. You can start living again.”
Zara had been crying for so long that her tears had gone dry, leaving only the hollow ache behind them. She lifted her eyes to his searching, disbelieving. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, she nodded.
Julian straightened. “But first go back to your bed.
