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GRACE TOUR DIARY: April 22nd, London

Note: I really really really wanted to get to Manchester. So this is kind of rushed even though it's been in my drafts for ages and I needed to finish it so I could get to Manchester.

APRIL 22ND – LONDON, DAY TWO

Day two in London felt different for a lot of people.

For the fans who had tickets for both night one and night two, there was already a sense of confidence in the air. They knew what to expect now, at least a little. They had a rough idea of the setlist, knew which songs to emotionally prepare for, and, most importantly, knew exactly what merchandise they wanted this time after panic-buying half the stand the day before.

For the fans seeing the show for the very first time, day two came with a small advantage. They’d spent the morning scrolling through posts, group chats, fancams, and fan accounts, learning everything they could from the people who had already survived night one. What time to get to the station, which merchandise stand had the shortest queue, who was giving away free stuff and which songs made everyone cry and, depending on how spoiler-friendly people had been online, maybe even the set list too?

For the staff, dancers, band, and everyone else working behind the scenes, the day was much calmer. It was mostly made up of light rehearsals, a few run-throughs of anything that had felt slightly off the night before, and then as much rest as they could squeeze in before doing it all again. For Grace, though, there was a different kind of energy building inside her.

No matter how hard she tried to stay calm, she couldn’t stop the excitement that kept bubbling up every time she remembered that tomorrow morning, she’d be arriving in Manchester. London was home in one sense. It belonged to her mother. It was where her parents had met, where their story had started, and where so much of her family history lived in the walls and streets and names of places.

But Manchester? Manchester was hers.

It was her city. Her home city. The place that had shaped her, raised her, and stayed stitched into every part of her, no matter how far away she’d gone. And tomorrow, she’d be going back with a bang.

Of course, there was another side to it, too.

The day after the Manchester concert, she’d be flying to Sweden, while Seokjin would be flying back to Seoul to begin his own solo journey again. So while Manchester would be a homecoming, it would also be the beginning of another goodbye, even if only for a little while.

Still, Seokjin was excited. Excited for Manchester. Excited for her. Excited for himself, too, even if he tried to act casual about it. And Grace would never be the person to hold him back from something he loved.

Speaking of Seokjin: He was currently stretched out across the couch like a man who had achieved true inner peace, having demolished two full rounds of a full English breakfast and followed it up with three coffees. If there was anyone in the hotel suite operating at full power that morning, it was him.

Grace, meanwhile, was sitting nearby staring blankly at the TV, feeling like she needed to borrow even a fraction of Jungkook’s natural energy just to function.

“Aish, why did they post that?” Seokjin pouted suddenly, holding his phone up in offence.

Grace lazily turned her head toward him just in time to catch the video on his screen, a fancam from the concert the night before. Someone had very clearly recorded him dancing and singing along to one of her songs in the crowd, making a complete fool of himself while somehow still looking annoyingly handsome doing it.

A grin immediately tugged at her mouth. “You did a better job than I did,” she said.

Seokjin scoffed, but he kept scrolling anyway. Every few seconds, he’d tilt the screen toward her to show her something new: selfies fans had taken outside the venue, mirror photos of carefully planned outfits, handmade signs decorated with glitter and tiny hearts, videos of fans screaming in train stations, and clips of people finally meeting in person after years of only knowing each other online. There were posts from fans documenting every part of the experience, like they were desperate to preserve every second before it slipped away. Videos of flights landing in London that morning, train journeys, coach rides, hotel check-ins, Airbnb room tours, and coffees in hand, bracelets stacked on wrists.

It was all there.

Tiny little pieces of joy were being saved in real time.

"Are you excited to go home?” Seokjin asked after a while, still half-scrolling.

Grace took a second to answer, briefly wondering which home he meant, Seoul or Manchester, before she realised. Her face softened instantly. “Yeah,” she said, smiling properly this time. “I can’t wait to feel that Manchester rain, smell those weird city smells, and go to Greggs.”

Seokjin looked up from his phone. “Greggs?”

Grace’s mouth fell open in horror. “Oh, my God.” She immediately shuffled across the couch and climbed over him until she was practically lying on top of him, stealing his phone out of his hand with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times before.

“What do you mean, Greggs?” she gasped, already opening the website like she was about to give him the cultural education of a lifetime. “Sausage rolls. Pasties. Steak bakes. Yum yums. There’s this thing called a vanilla slice that could genuinely change your life.”

Seokjin squinted at the screen as she enthusiastically scrolled. “Doesn’t London have that?”

“Yes,” Grace said, with the seriousness of someone discussing fine cuisine. “But it’s different when it’s from Manchester.”

He blinked. “How?”

She looked at him like the answer should’ve been obvious. “It just tastes better.”

An hour was spent looking at Greggs and texting Sejin to see if he could place a delivery order to the hotel in Manchester for tomorrow, when they got there. There was no reply for ten minutes until a message came back with one single emoji: the eye-roll one.

“That’s a yes then,” Grace grinned. After another hour of mindless scrolling, lounging around, and doing very little of actual importance, it was finally time to head to the O2 Arena for light rehearsals, glam, and the slow build-up to night two.

She went straight into glam, where the next few hours became less of a routine and more of a full reset.

The blonde dye she’d had done before the tour began in Seoul needed freshening up, so her hairstylist got to work on her roots almost straight away, parting through her hair with practised precision and brushing colour in section by section. At the same time, someone else settled beside her to start on her nails, laying out a new set of press-ons while Grace did little more than sink into the chair and let herself be fussed over.

For once, all she really had to do was sit still.

So she did, half-listening to the low hum of the room around her: dryers, makeup cases clicking open and shut, crew members passing the door while sorting out last-minute details, dancers drifting in one by one for light rehearsal, their voices rising and falling in the corridor outside.

Seokjin, meanwhile, got the full experience of what actually went on in Grace’s dressing room.

And more importantly, the level of gossip that somehow always seemed to blossom in there the second the door closed. At first, he looked relaxed enough, lounging in the corner with a coffee like he thought he was just there to observe a bit of harmless chatter while Grace got ready.

That lasted about five minutes.

“How did that date go last night?” the hairstylist asked, brushing dye into Grace’s roots while the nail stylist pulled out all her tools and the three makeup artists laid all their expensive bits and bobs on another table.

“Horrific,” the nail artist said flatly.

That got everyone’s attention.

“We ended up at a sushi place,” she continued, already filing one of Grace’s nails as she spoke, “and he asked what I did for work.”

Grace glanced down at her, already sensing where this was going. “I told him I do nails for artists,” she said, gesturing lightly toward Grace. “I even dropped your name, sorry.”

Grace snorted. “You’re fine.”

“He had no clue who you were,” she went on. “No idea what’s happening at the O2. And then", she paused for effect, looking around the room, “he asked if being a nail artist was a real job.”

The reaction was immediate with a chorus of disbelief, sharp inhales, offended noises, and one very loud, “You’re joking.”

It didn’t take long for the rest of the room to start piling in with their own gossip from everything that had happened between Grace’s makeup session the day before and now, and apparently, there was plenty of it.

For Seokjin, it was a rare chance to witness something most of the BTS members never really got to experience firsthand: female gossip. Usually, most of the women they worked with kept things professional with polite conversation, quick exchanges with staff, the occasional gentle instruction, and not much more. But with Grace, people relaxed. They opened up properly around her. And because of that, Seokjin found himself being let into an entire world of gossip, intrigue, female problems, and all the little bits of life that usually stayed behind closed doors.

Within minutes, the whole room had settled into that easy, overlapping rhythm Grace always loved before a show.

One story rolled straight into another. The bad date at the sushi place opened the floodgates, and suddenly everyone had something to contribute of a friend’s disastrous Hinge match, an ex who had the nerve to come back after six months with a “hey stranger", and a man who’d posted a black-and-white gym selfie with a caption about “protecting his peace” after being the actual problem in the relationship.

Grace sat in the middle of it all, letting herself be worked on while the room carried on around her.

Her roots were carefully sectioned and brushed through; the blonde refresh brought life back into the colour she’d had done before the tour started in Seoul. At the same time, the nail stylist worked steadily with her hands. Grace kept glancing down every so often as each nail was pressed into place, the new set glossy and neat, chosen to match the night’s look of dark orange and black.

It was strange how normal it all felt, despite the expensive glamour and time restraints, as the finishing touches of the night were being put in place. Grace was led over to the sink, where the dye was washed carefully from her hair. Warm water ran through the blonde, and even before it was dried, she could see the difference.

The first hand of nails was done. Then the second. Her blonde was blow-dried in sections, the stylist lifting and smoothing and reworking pieces until it began to fall the way Grace liked. The makeup artists came in next, starting with skincare and base, layering product into her skin with that calm, practised focus that always made Grace feel like she was being slowly rebuilt.

Outside the room, the backstage noise was changing too.

More footsteps in the corridor. More voices on comms. The distant thud of a bass check. Dancers starting to gather properly now, warming up, half-running formations in trainers and oversized hoodies. Somewhere out there, wardrobes were steaming costumes, sound was testing levels, and stagehands were marking positions for the night.

The show was no longer something that would happen later.

It was moving toward them minute by minute.

Eventually, Sejin reappeared at the door to remind Grace she needed to head down for light rehearsal.

“You’ve got fifteen,” he said, checking his clipboard. “Hair can finish the styling after.”

Grace nodded and stood carefully, one hand instinctively going to protect the half-finished work on her face even though no one had told her to. Her robe was pulled around her to keep everything safe, and she slipped into trainers for the walk to the stage.

The walk to rehearsal always felt different from the glam room.

Back in the dressing room, everything was warm and close and cluttered with laughter. Out in the corridor, the scale of the night came back. The crew passed by carrying cables and cases. Security stood posted where they needed to be. Dancers were already clustered near the stage entrance, stretching arms and necks, their chatter lower now, more focused.

When Grace stepped out onto the rehearsal stage, the O2 was still empty enough to feel eerie.

Rows and rows of vacant seats rose into shadow. The giant screens were black and waiting. The stage lights were brighter than the house, cutting through the dimness in pale beams. Without the crowd, every sound echoed: boots on the floor, a laugh from one of the dancers, the click of a mic being tested.

It was only a light rehearsal for the sound and cameras, making sure they were happy that nothing had changed too much in the notes from the last night and the dancers got a quick run-through again to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything in the last twenty-four hours.

Grace sat again and the room closed around her at once. This time, the team were well aware of time ticking away as the O2 arena announced they were opening the doors to the crowd in half an hour. Hair was resumed and styled into a ponytail this time; make-up was kept light but heavy so it wouldn’t melt under the lights and the sweat, and the nails were given one last coat of clear polish to shine.

The air around them got thicker with anticipation as the sounds of the crowd started to fill up the place, the excitement of 20,000 people slowly echoing around the arena as hair and nails started to pack up their tools to be transported up to Manchester.

Grace’s first outfit was slipped onto her body, Seokjin holding her steady as she slipped into her heels and the last touches of lip colour were brushed onto her lips. Now she could feel the anticipation and energy, not just of the crowd, but also of the people around her. It was nearly showtime.

Outside the O2, the queue had already started to break apart into excited streams of people being guided inside, and the second ARMY stepped through the doors, the whole place changed.

Lightsticks glowed in hands and poked out of tote bags. Girls stopped every few steps to fix each other’s hair, adjust signs, check tickets, and squeal every time they realised just how close they actually were. The concourse filled quickly with the sound of trainers on the floor, drinks being poured, card machines beeping, and dozens of overlapping conversations all saying the same thing in different ways.

“Oh my God, we’re actually here.”

Some rushed straight for merch, hoping there was still something left in their size. Others made a beeline for drinks and snacks, bottled water, and overpriced arena cups they would absolutely keep afterwards. Groups of young men and women, the elderly and the young, clustered around the seating entrances, double-checking sections and rows, taking photos before they went in, promising each other they’d meet back in the same spot after the show.

And then, one by one, they started finding their seats.

Every time someone stepped out into the arena properly, there was that same moment of pause, that little intake of breath when they saw the stage for real. Phones came out instantly to take photos and videos, posting quickly to various social media. Voice notes to friends. Some people laughed in disbelief; others just stood there staring for a second, overwhelmed by the size of it all.

Down below, the floor was beginning to fill. In the tiers, people were shrugging off coats, placing drinks under seats, trading freebies, and waving at strangers across rows who were just as excited as they were.

Twenty thousand people were settling in as BTS music played around them, staff helping those last stragglers, and under the stage, Grace let out a breath and waited.

It would never get old hearing the noise swell when the VCR started, when the live band joined the backing track, when those familiar opening notes of 7 Rings rang out, and then the deafening roar that followed the moment Grace appeared on stage.

It never got old hearing the song sung back to her or seeing thousands of people forget, just for a little while, about whatever problems or worries they had carried in with them. For two hours, none of it mattered. Not really. Not with the lights this bright and the music this loud.

And as Grace stood there on the thrust stage, she could feel all of it. “London,” she called. “Welcome to night two of the In My Head tour!”

They were louder than the night before, louder, it felt, than any other stop on the tour so far. As she and the dancers bowed in thanks to the crowd after her introduction, the roar that came back at them was almost overwhelming.

Grace laughed, breathless and glowing beneath the lights. “London, we’ve only got one more night in the UK after this,” she called. “So tell me, are you ready to have a good time?”

A deafening wall of screams crashed back at her, so loud that Grace had to laugh and pull the mic away for a second, her shoulders shaking as the dancers around her grinned. “London, I need you louder than that.”

And they never stopped the noise. They never quietened down, even on some of the softer songs. It was as if they were pouring every single noise and energy into tonight because they knew it could be a while before they got to experience this again.

And then came the moment that would feature on everyone’s social media, in the Disney+ documentary tour, on Big Hit’s socials as well. Everyone knew Grace did a BTS song at the concert, somewhere towards the end, but no one knew what it was. Not even Seokjin. Only the band and dancers knew of the songs at each stop.

So when the lights went down, and a single spotlight went towards Grace’s foot, and the opener to Mic Drop started, ARMY didn’t know whether to scream or cry.

The camera pulled back as the lights came up, revealing Grace standing centre stage with seven dancers, male and female, surrounding her in that instantly recognisable Mic Drop formation BTS had made iconic.

Of course, it had to be Mic Drop in London on night two. The biggest song for one of the biggest nights of the tour. And Grace committed to all of it.

She didn’t just cover the lines; she covered every movement, too. Throwing herself fully into the performance with the same sharpness, swagger, and force the song demanded. ARMY never let up for a second. The fanchant started right at the beginning, loud and perfect, just before Grace launched into Hobi’s verse. They kept going through Yoongi’s “mianhae eomma,” and they were somehow even louder by the time the chorus hit. It felt like the whole O2 had become part of the stage itself.

Behind Grace, the giant screens flickered between close-ups of her, shots of the crowd losing their minds, and the lyrics flashing across the backdrop, including a graphic of her Grammy the moment she sang, “my bags filled with trophies.”

“ARMY, are you ready?” she called as Namjoon’s “haters gonna hate” line rolled through the backing track.

The answer was deafening. Then the beat built louder and louder, the tension tightening with every second, until all the dancers suddenly rushed the stage for the defining moment, and the entire arena exploded.

And as suddenly as the concert started, it was suddenly just at the end. Two hours had flown by in a combination of hard choreography, slow songs, Mic Drop and, finally, Dangerous Woman.

“London,” she said, and the tone of her voice changed immediately, still smiling, still warm, but more grounded now, more sincere. “Before we go, I just want to say thank you.”

“Thank you for tonight,” she continued. “Thank you for showing up for me. Thank you for singing so loudly, for dancing, for crying, for screaming, for making this feel so special. Night two in London has been,” She shook her head, searching for the right words, then laughed softly. “Honestly? A little bit unreal.”

That got a swell of cheers.

She turned first toward the band, who were spread out behind her, still riding the high of the last number. “I need you to make some noise for my incredible band!”

The spotlight swung toward them, and the crowd went wild at once. One of the guitarists lifted his instrument in acknowledgement, the drummer standing from behind the kit to wave both sticks in the air while the others bowed or laughed under the attention.

Grace grinned. “They’ve been unbelievable every single night, and they make me sound much cooler than I actually am.” Then she turned, reaching a hand out toward the dancers gathered around her.

“And please, please make some noise for my dancers!”

That might have been one of the loudest cheers of the entire goodbye. The dancers immediately started laughing and bowing, some blowing kisses, some pointing out toward the crowd, others wrapping arms around each other’s shoulders as Grace introduced them one by one in quick bursts, giving each of them their moment while the arena cheered harder every time.

“You already know they carry me through this show every night,” Grace said once the applause had settled just enough. “They are insanely talented, ridiculously hard-working, and somehow still put up with me.”

The dancers crowded into her for a quick, chaotic little group hug that made the arena melt all over again.

When they broke apart, Grace glanced out toward the wings and then up toward the tech areas and control positions around the arena. “I also want to thank my crew,” she said. “The people backstage, side stage, front of house, sound, lights, video, wardrobe, hair and makeup, production, and security, every single person you don’t always get to see who makes this happen every night.”

The crowd erupted again, louder than some people might have expected, because they understood exactly what she meant.

Grace nodded gratefully. “This tour would not exist without them. Not a single part of it.” Then she smiled and added, “And I want to say thank you to all the staff here at the O2 as well, everybody working tonight behind the scenes, helping everyone get in safely, keeping this whole place running, and looking after us.”

That drew another wave of applause, warm and genuine, and somewhere off to the side a few members of staff who had been watching from backstage exchanged startled little smiles at being acknowledged.

Grace stepped a little further down the thrust stage after that, closer to the audience and closer to the barricade, and the crowd surged toward her again with fresh screams. “And finally," she said, though by the way her voice softened, they all knew where this was going. “ARMY.”

“I just," she paused, looking out over them, her expression turning openly emotional now. “I never want to take nights like this for granted. Ever. I know how much it means to be here. I know some of you travelled a long way. I know some of you planned outfits for weeks, made banners, traded freebies, queued for hours, saved up, counted down, and gave me your whole hearts tonight.” By now the arena had gone softer around the edges. Still loud, still emotional, but hanging on every word.

“And I felt every bit of it,” Grace said. “I really did.”

A few people near the front were visibly crying now. In the tiers, lightsticks swayed slowly while phones kept recording, desperate not to lose a second of this part either.

Grace smiled through it, eyes shining. “Thank you for trusting me with your night. Thank you for giving me your energy. Thank you for being so unbelievably loud.” She laughed faintly. “And thank you for making London night two something I will never, ever forget.”

The response that came back at her was huge and messy and full of love. Grace looked out over them all one last time. “We’ve got one more UK night after this,” she called, and that got a fresh scream immediately. “Manchester, I’m coming home tomorrow.”

The O2 answered with cheers, and Grace smiled at the little twist of emotion that line always pulled through her. “But tonight,” she said, “London, you were everything.”

She took a few steps back toward centre stage, where the dancers were already gathering in a line beside her, the band still visible behind them, everyone settling into that final end-of-show picture.

“Alright,” Grace said, lifting the mic one last time. “You know I can’t leave without hearing you properly one more time.” The noise that followed was probably louder than the crowd had been all night, as if hoping that, by screaming loud enough, Grace would never leave.

Then, together, Grace and her dancers moved forward and bowed deeply to the crowd.

The band followed behind them, waving and bowing too. Confetti cannons burst from either side of the stage in one final explosion, sending glittering pieces spinning through the air as the arena screamed itself nearly apart again.

Grace straightened from the bow and waved with both hands now as the crowd struggled to get last-minute photos, last-minute selfies with her in the background. “I love you!” she shouted. “Get home safe, and I’ll see you again soon!”

And then, still smiling so hard it looked like her face might ache from it later, Grace backed slowly toward centre stage, where her team waited. Then, with one last smile meant for all of them, Grace disappeared into the dark as the house lights began to rise and the O2 struggled to accept that the night was finally over.

The second Grace stepped offstage, the roar of the O2 changed.

It didn’t disappear, not properly, but it became muffled by concrete walls and backstage corridors, swallowed into the building as she moved out of the lights and back into the world behind them. Even so, she could still hear it. The cheers. The chanting. The last scraps of voices from people who still weren’t ready to let the night end.

For a few seconds, she just stood there at the side of the stage, chest rising and falling hard, the last of the adrenaline still racing through her body.

Then the backstage world rushed back in.

Crew members clapped as she came through, some calling out how good it had been, others already moving around her with the efficiency of people who knew the show might be over, but the night definitely wasn’t. Her mic pack and in-ears were removed and packed away almost immediately, and Hana appeared a second later to drape a robe around Grace’s shoulders.

There were quick hugs, tired grins, and someone dramatically fanning themselves while claiming they’d nearly died during Mic Drop. Then, gradually, the group started to break apart. The dancers peeled away towards their own dressing rooms while the crew disappeared back into breakdown mode. Racks were already being wheeled past as headsets crackled. Somewhere nearby, someone was asking for tape, someone else was calling for a case, and the machine of tour life was already moving on to the next thing.

Grace let herself be guided back towards her dressing room, one hand still wrapped around a bottle of water someone had pressed into it.

By the time she stepped inside, the room looked completely different from how it had been before the show. The energy had softened, and the rush was gone. Open makeup bags were half-packed, hair tools were being logged away, and garment bags hung ready to be zipped up and sent on. The bright, buzzy anticipation from earlier had been replaced by that strange, tired calm that only came after a really good show.

Then suddenly, there were hands everywhere, helping Grace break the stage persona back down into just Grace. Pins were pulled from her hair one after another, her ponytail loosened, and the blonde fell around her shoulders again, no longer stage-perfect, just soft and slightly wild. The hairspray was brushed through as best it could be for now, and the tightness in her scalp began to ease.

The makeup artists moved in gently after that. Lashes were peeled away, and with every careful swipe of cleanser and warm cloth, stage Grace disappeared piece by piece.

By the time the last of the makeup was gone, Grace looked as though the show had happened to her rather than been built on her. Her blonde hair was messier now, her face clean, her body clearly feeling every second of the night. The costume was unfastened after that and peeled away carefully so nothing would be damaged in packing, and she stepped into soft joggers and an oversized hoodie with obvious relief.

The transformation backwards was always her favourite part. It meant she could stop worrying about the show, have a day of rest, and then throw herself straight back into the chaos of tour life and do it all over again. This part was quieter, save for the occasional murmur of good job, until Sejin appeared outside with Seokjin, waiting for the moment Hana finally let her go with a fresh bottle of water and a banana.

“Ready?” Sejin asked.

“Ready,” Grace sighed, immediately melting into Seokjin’s side.

He grinned and tightened an arm around her shoulders as he guided her towards the waiting car. The ride back to the hotel was quiet apart from the occasional comment from Sejin and Hana in the front, the two of them talking through schedules and tomorrow’s journey. But the moment Grace stepped into the hotel and headed for their room, there were no more roaring crowds, no more flashing lights. Just soft carpeted corridors, tired footsteps, and the strange peacefulness that came after a night had taken everything out of you.

The second the room door shut behind them, the show felt even further away.

Their luggage and loose bits were scattered all over the room, and Grace took one look at the mess and sighed. “Do we have to do this tonight?” she asked, dropping onto the bed.

“Tomorrow us will be mad if we leave it,” Seokjin said, already starting to gather the bits for Grace’s mum and put them into a plastic bag, collecting other things as he moved around the room.

“Tomorrow me is already mad,” Grace grumbled, but she still pushed herself up and started folding the clothes that had never been worn and packing them away. Tomorrow’s outfit was chosen and hung up, and everything that didn’t need to be left out was tucked neatly back into place.

Seokjin kept moving around the room with that steady sort of purpose Grace had always loved in moments like this, when everything felt too loud in her own head, and he somehow made it all simpler just by doing the next thing.

Grace sat on the edge of the bed for a second longer, elbows on her knees, watching him through the heaviness settling into her bones. Her body had that odd, floaty ache that always came after a show: part adrenaline, part exhaustion, part the delayed understanding that she had just spent hours giving every part of herself away under lights hot enough to melt thought.

The rest of the night fell into a routine of brushing teeth and face cream. Grace stood half-asleep at the sink while Seokjin gently pushed her hair back from her face, spreading a bit of cream over her forehead. The hoodie traded for one of his old shirts. The curtains drawn fully shut against the city beyond the glass, phones plugged in and alarms set.

And then, finally, bed.

Grace climbed under the duvet with all the gracelessness of someone truly finished, turning onto her side immediately. Seokjin slipped in beside her a moment later, and she moved towards him without even opening her eyes, fitting herself against his chest, one arm draped loosely over his middle.

His hand settled at her back, warm through the thin cotton, and the room sank into stillness.

For the first time all day, there was absolutely nothing left to do.

Grace breathed out slowly, her whole body giving in at last. Tomorrow, Manchester would welcome her with open arms again, and the tour machine would carry on. But for now, she could stop and rest.

And with Seokjin’s heartbeat steady under her ear and the last of the adrenaline finally fading from her blood, Grace let herself drift, piece by piece, into sleep.

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