The train ride had been a blur for me, the rhythmic clatter of wheels on tracks lulling me into a half-dream state. But for Lydia, it had been a different story. She looked pale and disheveled, her face a canvas of discomfort. If my count was accurate, she had vomited three times during the journey, each retch a testament to her suffering.
Now, as the train finally pulled into Rosemaw station, I gently woke her from her restless slumber.
"We've arrived," I murmured, but Lydia was already on her feet, moving with a sense of urgency. She stumbled, almost falling, and I caught her just in time. "I think I should help you a bit," I said, steadying her until she regained her balance. Her gratitude was unspoken, but the look in her eyes spoke volumes.
