Afaintvoicedriftedthroughtheirondoor—weak,yettingingwithasubtlesoftness,likeasoftfeatherbrushinglightlyagainsthisear.
Withacreak,theheavydoorswungopenoncemore.
"Whatisit?"heasked.
Reyaliftedherhead,slumpedweaklyagainstthewall.Hersweat-soakedhairgtoherforehead,andhereyeswerehazy,fever-bright,asifshewerelostindelirium.
Shelickedherlipsandspokeinasoft,breathyvoice,"I''''mnotfeelingwell...I''''msweatingallover...myclothesaresoaked.Couldyouhelpme?"
Themanagerfrowned."Didn''''tyoutakethemedie?"
Hisgazeswepttheroomaheuylenoltossedaside.Hisvoicesharpened."Igaveyoumedie,andyoudidn''''ttakeit.Areyoupnningtodiehere?"
Reyadidn''''tanswer.Herbreathscamesoftandshallow,herhalf-liddedgazeholdingastrangeallure—seductiveandsicklyatonce,impossibletoread.Wasshetrulyburningwithfever,orwasthissomekindofact?
Themanagerswallowedhard,thenturhebathroom.Whenhecameback,hecrouchedinfrontofher,toweldrippinginhisglovedhand.
Hisgazedrifteddown,logonthepalelineofhercolrbopeekedfromtheneeofherdampT-shirt.Whenhispalmpressedagainstherskihroughtheglovehefelttheunnaturalheatradiatingfromherbody.
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