In the mirror's reflection, he watched Blazar emerge from the shadows of the bathing chamber - shoulders hunched like a wounded animal seeking shelter, face carefully blank but for the faintest tremor in her hands that betrayed the storm raging beneath her composure.
Blazar kept her breathing even. But inside she was screaming—a raw, primal sound that clawed at her throat and begged for release.
NAKED. She'd been NAKED. The thought hammered against her skull like a war drum. Soaking in that gods-damned marble tub like she had nothing to hide.
Like she wasn't a woman disguised as a man, playing a deadly game where discovery meant more than embarrassment—it meant exile, disgrace, maybe even death.
Like her life didn't depend on maintaining this charade every waking moment, every breath a careful performance.
The memory of the warm water lapping against her skin now felt like acid. How could she have been so careless? So utterly, stupid?
