ROB lingered at the door a moment longer than he should have, staring at Orlanda like she was a ghost that refused to fade. The stale air in the small room pressed against his skin as he took in the sight of her, curled up on the thin mattress, eyes half-closed, breathing shallow but steady. Alive.

His eyes darted to the metal tray he had set down the previous night, approximately fourteen hours ago, the same tray he had carried in the poisoned meal last night. It was empty. Clean. A faint whiff of rice and gravy clung to the air, mocking him.

“You ate it, didn’t you?” Rob asked...