The master bathroom held warmth in layers. Steam clung lightly to the mirror without fully clouding it, thin enough that her reflection remained intact beneath it. White marble counters ran clean along the length of the wall, uninterrupted except for a single glass tray holding neatly arranged toiletries. Chrome fixtures caught the overhead light in sharp, contained glints.
The shower behind her continued to run, water striking tile in a steady, even rhythm.
Galathea Brooks stood at the counter, one hand braced lightly against the edge.
Droplets traced slowly down her skin, gathering at her wrist before falling to the surface below. Her hair, damp and dark, clung in loose strands against her back. The air smelled faintly of citrus and soap, familiar enough to ground the space in routine.
She didn't reach for a towel immediately.
Her gaze remained on the mirror.
Not searching.
Confirming.
Her lips parted slightly.
"Galathea."
The name came out low, steady, unforced.
