Eleanor grimaced as she ran her hand through the choppy ends of what remained of her hair after the decontamination machine had finished with her. She was afraid to look in a mirror, but at some point, she’d need to see how bad the damage was.

At least the machine had left something for her stylist to work with. Sam might think she’d be beautiful bald, but it wasn’t a look she wanted to try.

“All right in there?” Mrs. Jackson’s voice trilled at her from the speaker under the shower nozzles.

Eleanor took a deep breath. “I’m fine.” She hoped she didn’t sound as shaken as she felt after all the stinging, spraying, poking, and prodding she’d endured.

“Well, the readout says you had a nasty set of chemicals and mold a...

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