The heat wasn't just fever—it burned through my veins. Every single breath I drew burned my lungs, as if I were inhaling toxic fumes.
The entire world spun and warped. The sound of ocean waves crashing outside felt distant.
I sat leaning against the rotting kitchen counter. My violently trembling hand tried to steady a carton of plain milk to pour into a glass for Yurin.
But for my completely wrecked body, the mere weight of a plastic carton felt impossibly heavy.
Shake... Shake...
My hand refused to obey. Suddenly, the carton slipped.
The glass tumbled from my grasp, shattering across the wooden floor. Tiny jagged shards scattered everywhere. Pure white milk pooled across the floor, mixing with the filth and dust.
Exactly like my good intentions. Reduced to nothing but a pathetic mess.
"FUCK!"
I cursed hoarsely. Hot tears of absolute frustration burned my eyes. I can't even pour a damn glass of milk. If I can't even do this… what right do I have to protect anyone?
Swoosh!
