The room smells faintly of lavender and clean cotton — not enchanted, not ritualistic, just… calm. Bonnie hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding herself together until she sits down and someone doesn’t immediately need something from her. Bonnie exhales, slow and shaky, shoulders dropping a fraction. “I’m not very good at… stopping,” she admits. Bonnie nods, eyes closing — not because she’s giving in, but because for the first time in a long while, she feels safe enough to.