Fiona
I woke up that morning already knowing something was wrong. My whole body ached in a way that had nothing to do with tiredness, a deep, heavy soreness settled into my muscles, and when I pressed my palm against my forehead, the heat radiating off my skin told me exactly what I didn't want to admit.
I had a fever.
I told myself it wasn't bad enough to matter. I'd survived worse on less sleep before. I forced down a piece of toast, took something for the ache, and drove to the mansion the way I did every morning, telling myself the drive itself would help me wake up enough to push through the day.
By the time I finished serving breakfast, my hands were trembling slightly as I cleared the dishes, a cold sweat prickling along my hairline despite how warm I felt underneath it. Margare
