She was burning up by Thursday morning, the cold she'd apparently been fighting off since the rain-soaked cellar trip finally winning the argument her body had been having with itself for days.
Justin found her curled on top of the covers instead of beneath them, still in yesterday's clothes, hair damp against her forehead, looking smaller and more fragile than he'd ever seen her—none of the careful, watchful composure she usually wore, only a flushed, glassy-eyed exhaustion that made something protective and immediate flare in his chest.
"Hey."
He crouched beside the bed and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead the way his mother used to do for him. The heat radiating from her skin was unmistakable, even through the brief touch.
"You're burning up. Why didn't you say something
