“Sweetheart? Are you feeling okay?” Charlotte opened her eyes slowly to Brady holding a tray in front of her. He had a glass of orange juice, toast, and some fruit laid out. Setting the tray to the side of her legs on the bed, Brady took a seat closer to her, holding his hand up to her forehead. Frowning, he examined her eyes and sighed. “You don’t feel warm, but your eyes, Charlotte. They look different. Like, they’re losing color.”
Shrugging, she started scratching at her wrist. It had become habit at this point to scratch at the ghostly feeling there. Brady looked down and grabbed her hand away and held up her wrist closer to his eyes. “How long have you been scratching this, Char?”
“A while, I guess,” she shrugged again and tried to yank her hand back. Brady held on tighter to
