Water thundered against tile.
The sound filled Cael Alexander's bathroom like a storm trapped inside glass walls, drowning out the city noise far below. Steam curled upward in pale ribbons, blurring the sharp edges of mirrors and marble.
Galathea Brooks stood under the showerhead, hands braced against the cool stone wall.
The water was hot enough to sting.
She welcomed it.
For the last hour, her mind had replayed the greenhouse over and over again.
The flower opening.
The soft crack of porcelain forming.
Her face falling into the soil.
A perfect copy.
Her stomach twisted again.
She pressed her forehead against the tile and exhaled slowly.
"Breathe," she murmured to herself.
The water hammered down harder.
Behind the fogged glass door, the bathroom light glowed warm and dim.
Cael stood at the sink, sleeves rolled back, watching her through the steam-blurred glass.
"You're trying to outrun your thoughts," he said.
Galathea let out a quiet laugh. "That obvious?"
