"But I did kill him," Lucius murmured.
Layla's fingers momentarily paused in his hair, then resumed, massaging his scalp, working the foam into every strand. "I don't think so. You can tell me the truth," she said softly.
"You trust me so much. What if I betray you?" he asked, his tone distant.
"Why are you saying things like that?" she scolded, pulling the faucet handle. The warm water washed away the suds, leaving his hair clean.
Lucius closed his eyes, savoring the comfort of her touch. Once she finished rinsing his hair, Layla asked him to stand. Her dress was damp in places, but she ignored it, her focus entirely on Lucius. She took a towel and approached him as he leaned against the washbasin, his posture weary.
As she gently dried his hair, he broke the silence. "Aren't you afraid of me? Now that you know I—"
