Ethan watched as Helen's guard slowly crumbled, her eyes reflecting a vulnerability she hadn't shown in months.
"I think I've taken enough of your time for one evening, Helen. Is there a place where I could wash up before turning in? The dust of the canyons is quite persistent," said Ethan.
"Oh, of course. Since this is an older building, the bathing area is separate from the rooms, but it's private. I'll go prepare the hot water and fresh towels for you right away," said Helen.
She moved with a newfound energy, almost scurrying toward the back of the inn. Ethan followed her a few minutes later. The bathhouse was a rustic stone room with a large copper tub. The steam rose in thick plumes, carrying the faint scent of pine oil.
Ethan soaked in the hot water, his eyes closed as he leaned his head back against the rim. He wasn't relaxing; he was calculating. Every word he had spoken was a thread in a web, and Helen was already tangled in its center.
