Karl climbed the stairs to the upper floor, keeping his steps light. When he reached the door, he knocked softly.
"Amber? Chloe? It's me, Karl."
There was a brief shuffle before the door creaked open. Amber stood there, her face pale and her hair disheveled. "Karl… thanks for coming." Her voice was weak, barely above a whisper.
Karl stepped inside, and the state of the room hit him immediately. It was dimly lit, the curtains drawn, and the air felt stale. A few empty plates and bottles were scattered on the small table, and Chloe was slumped on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. She looked even worse than Amber—her face pale and her movements sluggish.
"What's going on?" Karl asked, his tone calm but concerned.
Amber gestured for him to sit. "We've been feeling awful the past few days," she explained, sinking into a chair. "At first, we thought it was just a cold or something, but it's not going away. And… we ran out of food."
