Freya's POV

I changed in the bathroom with trembling hands.

The ruined gown lay in a heap on the tile floor like roadkill. I peeled it off, the lace clinging to my clammy skin, and stepped into the shower for thirty seconds—just long enough to rinse the rain and mascara from my face. No soap. No time to feel clean. I just needed to stop shivering.

His T-shirt was massive on me. The cotton fell to my mid-thigh, the sleeves past my elbows. I found some black sweatpants in the hamper. They were huge, but I rolled the waistband twice and cinched it tight. The shirt hung loose, the thin...