Jack and the others quickly turned their attention to Mary, who was convulsing on the fleshy ground like a fish out of water. Her hand had slipped out of her breeches, and she seemed to be faking some sort of illness.
Jack's brow furrowed, worry etched across his face as he rushed to her side. He knelt down, his hands hovering for a moment before firmly grasping her shoulders, trying to steady her trembling body. Slowly, her convulsions began to ease. He exhaled sharply, then gently rolled her from her side to her back. His fingers pressed lightly against her wrist, checking her pulse, while his eyes narrowed as he observed her shallow breathing. Her eyes were closed, but her pulse beat steadily beneath his touch, perhaps even stronger than before.
Mary's eyelids fluttered, barely opening, as she whispered, "J-ack," her voice trembling as if to match her feigned weakness.
