The bath is scalding, almost unbearably so, but I force myself to sit still in the clawfoot tub, the steam curling around me like smoke. The water is tinged a faint rose gold from the powdered salts Killion's housekeeper insisted on pouring in, and the scent of something sweet—jasmine, maybe—clings to my skin.
It's almost nice. Not the upper city level but this is like heaven after months of life on a bar. I take my sweet time and try not to fall asleep.
I conclude that the bathrooms are very different from the Emberthorn mansion. Maybe he forgot to take notes. Anyway... it is too comforting that I forget what is coming.
Because this isn't a bath for me. It's a bath for him. For his plans, for his schemes, for whatever web he's about to spin tonight, with me as the bait in the center of it.
