I splashed cold water over my face again and again until my eyes stung, as if I could wash away the tremor in my hands. I dabbed my cheeks dry with the hand towel, pressing harder than necessary.
Hair tie out. Fingers combing through until it fell loose on my shoulders, hiding the tension in my neck.
I tilted my chin up, forcing my mouth into a practiced half-smile. Not happy, not sad—untouchable.
A few deep breaths. In. Out. Shoulders back.
The trick wasn’t feeling okay. The trick was looking like I’d never been knocked down at all.
When I stepped out, it wasn’t Savannah the girl with a secret walking into that barbecue—it was Savannah Hart, perfectly composed and armed for battle. With a very deadly vendetta.
But the moment I walked out the bedroom and down the stairs, I sensed it
