Beatrice.
I didn't leave my bed for the rest of that day.
Gerald brought me water every few hours. Plain crackers. Weak tea that I couldn't keep down. He didn't ask about the messages again, and I didn't offer explanations.
By evening, the nausea had dulled to a persistent ache in my stomach. Not gone, just quieter. Like my body had finally exhausted itself and decided to give me a few hours of peace.
I managed half a piece of toast. Three sips of water. Small victories that felt enormous.
Gerald knocked around eight PM. "Can I come in?"
"Yeah."
He entered carrying his laptop, the USB drive I'd almost forgotten about clutched in his other hand. His face had that look—the one he got when he'd been staring at code for hours, chasing patterns that kept slipping away.
"I finished analy
