The water in the shower was hot, steaming, and Ivaan let it run over him, washing away the metallic smell of the basement. He stood under the spray for a while, letting the heat sink into his muscles, but the cold feeling inside him didn't budge. He was already done with what needed to be done.
Stepping out, he moved into his dressing room, a clean, modern space of dark wood and glass. He quickly shaved, looking at his own face in the mirror—his jaw sharp, his eyes intense and still empty. There was no lingering emotion, just a cold focus on the next thing.
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