Ryleigh sat on the edge of her narrow bed, the quiet of her room pressing in like a second skin. The day had been long, her legs sore, her thoughts heavier than ever. The overhead light cast a dull glow against the pale cream walls—bare, cold, and impersonal. The only splash of life in the room was the modest blanket folded neatly at the foot of her bed and the small wooden nightstand beside her.
She pulled out her phone for the second time today.
Three messages from Derek.
Her heart skipped as she opened them, reading slowly, savoring each word as though it had weight.
Derek: I miss you. I keep thinking about you. In a few days, I’ll be heading to Brazil. The sickness is spreading faster than we thought. It’s getting worse.
Please be safe. I’m going to reach out to Damien first thing
