A faint shuffle by the door pricked Syn's senses, a shadow shifting beyond the frosted panel.
He froze, soap dripping from his elbow as he snapped, "Aster, don't try anything funny—I can hear you out there!" His voice echoed off the walls, sharp with a mix of irritation and modesty, but the door slid open anyway, a rush of cooler air cutting through the steam.
Syn's head whipped around, ready to protest, but it wasn't Aster who stepped inside—it was Vera, cloaked in a white towel that hugged her frame, her purple hair loose and cascading over her shoulders, her skin glowing in the dim light.
Her face was lit up with a happiness he hadn't seen in weeks, a radiant contrast to the exhaustion that had shadowed her all month, her sharp eyes soft with a rare, unguarded joy.
