Lena's POV
I sat stiffly on the couch, knees tucked close, fingers twisting in my lap. My heart still hadn't slowed. Not since… well, not since the shower incident.
Beside me, the silence stretched.
A few minutes later, Iris came back from the washroom. She didn't say anything. Just sat beside me, straight-backed, glasses slightly fogged, eyes locked onto the half-toppled Monopoly board like it held all the secrets of the universe.
Well. I couldn't look at the same thing. That'd be weird.
So I stared at my hands.
Fidgeting. Picking at my thumbnail. Pretending I wasn't still thinking about—
Then we heard footsteps.
Slow. Steady.
He walked into the room.
Franz.
His hair was damp, clinging to his forehead. A towel was still slung low around his waist. His chest was wrapped with fresh white bandages, cutting across muscle and bruised skin. Water still clung to his shoulders.
Our eyes met.
Again.
Why is he still in a towel?! My face flushed instantly. I looked away too late.
