**ADRIAN'S POV**
"Adrian…"
The voice was soft but urgent, muffled by the bathroom door. My nanny, Brielle. The knock that followed was quick, controlled enough to wake me without drawing too much attention.
My eyes fluttered open, lids heavy as if weighted with lead. The air smelled faintly of steam and faintly of metal—blood, maybe. My vision swam for a moment before the pale tiles steadied. I was still in the tub.
The water was no longer scalding, no longer biting into my skin like it had when my father had shoved me under, his hand iron-tight on the back of my head. It was warm now, a gentle contrast against the memory of fire on my flesh.
She'd been here. And she'd turned off the heater, stopped the faucet. She'd left me to soak in quiet warmth long enough to dull the pain, but not wash it away.
