She walked to the bathroom, bracing herself against the sink. Her reflection stared back at her—pale, tired, still bearing the faint traces of last night's tears. She looked exactly like someone who'd been up all night sick. It was almost too perfect.
Lana splashed cold water on her face, then reached for the makeup bag. She needed to look worse, not better. More fragile. More pathetic. The kind of woman who needed to be taken care of, not the kind who was about to bring down an empire.
She applied concealer under her eyes, then smudged it slightly to look like dark circles. She left her hair unbrushed, tangled and wild. She changed into her oldest pajamas—the ones with the faded pattern and the hole in the sleeve. She even dabbed a little bit of foundation on her lips to make them look
