The world outside the house felt unbearably quiet, as though even the wind held its breath. My legs felt like lead, each step an agonizing effort, my injured foot throbbing with every movement. Sweat beaded on my forehead, mixing with the tears I could no longer summon. My fever had returned—a heavy, all-encompassing heat that made me dizzy and disconnected.
Still, I clung to the bag of supplies Alex had given me, refusing to loosen my grip no matter how weak I felt. It was his last gift, his last sacrifice for me. I couldn't let it slip away.
The street blurred in and out of focus as I stumbled forward, exhaustion tugging at me like a tide determined to pull me under. I didn't know where I was going, only that I couldn't stop. Stopping meant thinking, and thinking meant drowning in guilt and grief.
"Maya?"
The sound of my name snapped me out of my haze. I turned, my vision swimming, to see a figure standing a few feet away.
