Chris stepped inside the bathroom briefly, long enough to let the heavy door close behind him, splash cold water on his face, and stare at his own reflection until the tension in his jaw gave a little. The light was harsh. The sink was spotless. He pressed the edge of the counter and took two long, measured breaths.
Then he walked past the row of dark marble stalls, past the antique sconces shaped like twin moons, and let himself out through the side door that opened into one of the narrower gallery halls. A quick left, past two closed staff corridors, and there it was, an exit to the small East Wing balcony, carved out between the southern towers.
The moment the glass door clicked shut behind him, Chris exhaled properly for the first time all evening.
