The rain had cut the night into silver streaks. Lina sat by the window, looking out onto the street through the cracks in the glass. The drops drew threads of light across the pane, each one a small, trembling heartbeat. Behind her, Alaric breathed restlessly – not deep enough, not regular enough. His body was fighting, even in sleep.
She stood up, crept to the bed, carefully placed her hand on his forehead. Fever. Too hot. The fabric of her sleeve stuck to his skin as she changed the cloth she had dampened.
"Stay with me," she whispered, though she knew he couldn't hear her.
Outside, footsteps clicked on wet asphalt. Three, maybe four people. She ducked automatically, slid under the windowsill. Voices, muffled by the rain.
"Someone saw light upstairs."
"Could it be them?"
"Too many coincidences."
