Bora began with a gentle cleanser, her hands steady as she wiped away the traces of exhaustion etched into my face.
The cotton pad came away tinged with dried blood from the small cut on my cheek—a reminder of the spotlight that had nearly crushed me.
"I heard what happened," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the noise around us. "I'm so sorry about Haejun."
Her fingers were careful around the tender spot where the glass had nicked my skin.
"He saved you."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"Let's start fresh," she said, reaching for a new cotton pad.
The cleanser felt cool against my skin, washing away the last few hours of panic and desperation. It was symbolic somehow—like she was preparing me for rebirth.
Bora moved to my hair first, her fingers combing through the dark blue strands.
"Haejun spoke with the styling team yesterday," she explained, sectioning off pieces with clips. "He had very specific ideas about your look."
