~Narrator’s~

“He hasn’t eaten in three days.”

The maid’s whisper in the stillness is just like a dropped pin in a church. The penthouse is too quiet and cold.

Reo’s half-curled in the hallway. His shirt is stamped to his damp skin, his face is pale with sweat, and his breathing is shallow, strained. The floor looks like it could swallow him whole.

Blair hurries in first and quickly kneels beside him. She touches his forehead, then jerks her hand back with a curse. “He’s burning.”

Two guards stand in the background, equally confused. One tries dialing Leo, and the other shuffles toward the kitchen like soup might fix years...