Beatrice.
The nausea hit me on the bus ride home.
One moment I was sitting there, Nathaniel's paper clutched in my sweating palm, replaying his words about Adrian's family. Next, my stomach twisted violently and the world tilted sideways.
I barely made it off at my stop before doubling over behind a street vendor's cart, heaving until there was nothing left.
"Señora, are you okay?" The vendor—an elderly woman with kind eyes—touched my shoulder gently.
"Fine. Just—" Another wave hit. I pressed my hand against my mouth, tasting bile. "Something I ate."
But I knew better. This wasn't food poisoning. This was the same sickness that had been plaguing me for weeks, getting worse each day. The same exhaustion that made climbing stairs feel like climbing mountains. The same dizziness that ap
