Another voice laughs softly.
"Yeah… you're right. That kind of brown… I've never seen it before." A beat. "They almost look like jewels."
I go still.
My hand freezes beneath the running water.
Brown.
Jewel.
Silas.
The thought arrives without permission. Uninvited. Unwanted. It slides into my mind like a knife between ribs—quiet, sharp, already buried before I feel it.
Why am I thinking about him?
I pull my hands from the water. Shake them once. Twice. Droplets scatter across the mirror, across the polished counter—breaking the stillness I'm trying to hold onto.
I reach for the dispenser. Smooth. Automatic. A sheet slides free. I dry my fingers slowly. Deliberately. As if moving slow enough might outrun the name echoing in my skull.
Silas.
Silas.
Silas.
My mood is already bad—tight, simmering, contained. I don't want to make it worse by meddling in other people's business. Other people's fights. Other people's problems.
I walk toward the door.
