Afaintvoicedriftedthroughtheirondoor—weak,yettingingwithasubtlesoftness,likeasoftfeatherbrushinglightlyagainsthisear.

        Withacreak,theheavydoorswungopenoncemore.

        "Whatisit?"heasked.

        Reyaliftedherhead,slumpedweaklyagainstthewall.Hersweat-soakedhairclungtoherforehead,andhereyeswerehazy,fever-bright,asifshewerelostindelirium.

        Shelickedherlipsandspokeinasoft,breathyvoice,"I''mnotfeelingwell...I''msweatingallover...myclothesaresoaked.Couldyouhelpme?"

        Themanagerfrowned."Didn''tyoutakethemedicine?"

        HisgazeswepttheroomandlandedontheunopenedTylenoltossedaside.Hisvoicesharpened."Igaveyoumedicine,andyoudidn''ttakeit.Areyouplanningtodiehere?"

        Reyadidn''tanswer.Herbreathscamesoftandshallow,herhalf-liddedgazeholdingastrangeallure—seductiveandsicklyatonce,impossibletoread.Wasshetrulyburningwithfever,orwasthissomekindofact?

        Themanagerswallowedhard,thenturnedtothebathroom.Whenhecameback,hecrouchedinfrontofher,toweldrippinginhisglovedhand.

        Hisgazedrifteddown,lockingonthepalelineofhercollarbonewhereitpeekedfromthenecklineofherdampT-shirt.Whenhispalmpressedagainstherskin,eventhroughtheglovehefelttheunnaturalheatradiatingfromherbody.

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