She was a little pale. A little haggard. A little scrawnier than she had been. And her injured arm definitely showed signs that she was still healing: fading bruises and darker blue veins, and the way it didn’t hang as straight as her other arm. There were also a few thin white lines along her right hand’s knuckles, and she had a feeling they wouldn’t be going away. “But they didn’t break me,” she said out loud as she stepped under the colorful streams and let the hot water rinse away the grime and tangles. Showering had always been a way to center herself. A way to regroup and start again.
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