“Take the second chair,” Rose said, tipping her head as she studied my reflection in the wall mirror.

“Let me wash the scalp first with warm water and chamomile.”

The stainless steel basin felt cool against the back of my neck.

Rose worked gently, her fingers moving in slow circles to rinse away the tiny bits of clipped hair and dry skin along the ragged edges Eleanor had left.

“The skin isn’t broken, and that’s good,” Rose said quietly, combing a drop of botanical oil through the stubble.

“We’ll take the sides down to match the top, clean up the line above your ears, and give it a clear, intentional shape.”