She needed the water to wash away the memory of the red eye, the smile, the terror clawing through her veins. She stayed there longer than usual, letting the warmth seep into her bones, coaxing her racing thoughts into stillness.
Eventually, it worked.
She dressed, dried her hair, and felt steadier when she stepped into the kitchen to make breakfast.
But her mind never stopped spiraling.
Fernando.
What must he be thinking of her now?
She knew—she knew what she saw last night was real. And she couldn't keep him in the dark. She couldn't risk his life by staying silent.
She was setting the table when he came downstairs.
They ate quietly, the silence heavy but not hostile. She knew he was waiting, giving her space.
"I'm s-sorry," she murmured at last.
Fernando paused mid-bite and set his fork down, turning fully toward her. She refused to meet his eyes.
"For what?" he asked gently.
