She was beautiful.

No, she was more than that.

Grace sat at a table behind the one-way glass in the observation room of the police precinct, watching the woman sit calmly in the interview room on the other side. The woman who had walked through fire and somehow looked like she’d never been touched by it.

Y/n Ashford.

She was dressed in the soft gray sweatpants and loose-fitting white cotton shirt the police had given her to wear after her medical check-up. It wasn’t fashionable, but somehow, she still looked elegant. Her hair was loose, a little messy from the night before, her skin a little faint, yet she looked like something sacred. Not fragile, not broken—just… human.

However, under that composure, Grace saw the vulnerability in her eyes.