~Hermes~

I step out, running a hand through my damp hair—then stop dead.

That isn't Agnes.

For a split second, I think I'm still half-dreaming. I'd sworn it was her voice calling me. Maybe my mind is finally slipping, stitching familiar sounds into strangers.

The woman in front of me is young. Blonde. About June's age.

"Oh my God—I'm so sorry," she blurts, slapping a hand over her eyes like she's just walked in on something forbidden.

Right.

My bare chest.

I exhale sharply, annoyed ...