The water echoed softly as I stepped inside, the curtain falling shut behind me. Steam rolled across the cracked tiles, fogging the overhead light into a dim glow. The showerheads were older models—one was leaking slightly, ticking against the metal drain.
Roulan stood beneath the working one, back turned to me, her dark hair now unpinned and soaked down to her shoulder blades. Water slid down her spine in slow rivulets.
She didn't turn.
"You took your time," she said, voice calm, like she hadn't just invited me into a fogged-up stall with her shirt already half off.
I didn't answer. Just let the water hit my shoulders, trailing down skin that still carried grit, dried blood, the sharp tang of gunpowder.
"Still so serious," she added, reaching up and adjusting the water as it sprayed between her breasts, creating a lewd puddle in her cleavage.
