The next morning, Riley still doesn't wake, even when it's time for Skye to get ready for school. Henry waits for a while, watching the door as if Riley will suddenly appear, but nothing changes.
Riley's silence presses against the house. So Henry goes about it himself, guiding Skye through the morning routine.
He helps him dress, ties his shoes, brushes his hair, all while his mind keeps circling back to the other room.
"Riley will pick you up from school," Henry tells his son, keeping his voice low and coaxing. He says it as they pass Riley's door, his hand lightly pressing at Skye's back to keep him moving. "He can't go right now. He's not feeling so good. I told you that."
Skye halts, small shoulders stiffening. His eyes flick toward the closed door, concern creeping into his face. He doesn't take another step.
"Should we take him to the hospital?" Skye asks. His voice is soft, but steady, the kind of question that tells Henry his son won't budge until he hears an answer.
