Bianca's POV
The water ran scalding hot as steam filled the bathroom. I stood at the marble sink, studying my reflection with the critical eye I applied every morning. The same ritual. The same search for new lines, new signs that time was trying to claim what belonged to me.
Behind the bathroom door, I could hear movement in my chambers.
Number Tetra was still there. Part of me wondered if she was considering another pathetic attempt at self-destruction. But her little blood-letting performance seemed to have knocked some sense into her empty skull.
Something wet dragged across the floor in steady, rhythmic strokes. She was cleaning up her own mess. Finally showing a shred of intelligence after that disgusting display.
I reached for my imported serum, the one that cost more than most people made in a month. I applied it in careful upward motions, exactly as the Swiss facialist had demonstrated. Everything had to fight gravity. Everything had to battle time.
