I was hovering between consciousness and a dream when my phone chirruped. I wanted to ignore it, trying my best to cling to the image of hugging curves on my motorcycle, but curiosity wormed its way through the image.
Who the hell is texting me?
It wasn’t like I had anyone to talk to. I hadn’t messaged any past hookups to let them know I was in Dallas, and I’d just seen Zero a couple of hours ago. Maybe he wanted to talk more about his plan to terrify Arina into leaving the sideshow.
Still, why couldn’t it wait until morning?
The only person I wanted to talk to was Hallow—to give them a piece of my mind—but they didn’t text. I wasn’t even sure they had a cell phone.
With a groan, I pried my eyes open and crawled out of bed, crossing to the small counter where my phone was charging. My trailer might not have been as fancy as Night’s, but at least I didn’t have to share it with anyone. I’d take the cramped space and solitude over the stuntman bus any day.
Blinking for my eyes to focus, I glanced at the pop-up on the screen. All of my guesses were wrong.
Night:SOS
My throat tightened.
I wasn’t the magician’s go to for help—that was typically Daze. If the aerialist was out of commission or not answering, something was definitely wrong.
I pressed the call button and let it ring until Night’s voicemail picked up. Then, I tried again.
No answer.
Shit.
That wasn’t a good sign, but the chances of him answering had been slim to begin with. He was selectively mute, meaning he still had his voice but refused to use it. Even in an emergency, I doubted he’d speak to me.
With a sigh, I slipped on my tennis shoes and headed for the door, trying to call one last time. It went straight to voicemail.
“Fuck.”
So much for that…
I hung up and shoved the phone into the pocket of my sweatpants. Luckily, I wore clothes to bed tonight instead of sleeping in the buff like I normally did.
Jogging across the lot, my eyes zeroed in on Night’s trailer. Immediately, I noticed the blinds were open—or missing, I realized as I got closer—and the lights inside were off. Not a great sign.
I knocked on the door and listened for a reply.
None came.
“Night!” I called, banging my fist against the thin door again.
This time, I heard a muffled groan, and panic shot through me. I ripped the door open and climbed inside, bracing myself for whatever waited for me.
What Ididn’texpect was to find Night face down on the floor, his crumpled, broken cell phone next to him. He was only wearing boxers, his back glistening with sweat, and it looked like he’d been crawling toward the front of the trailer when he collapsed.
“Night!” I hurried over a pile of his discarded clothes and dropped next to him on the floor. There wasn’t much room, especially not with how he was lying, but I managed to roll him onto his back.
His skin was on fire, burning against my fingers as I positioned him comfortably—as comfortably as I could. His eyes were closed, but the muscles in his face were twitching. Every so often a groan escaped him.
“What happened, you bastard?” I asked.
Aside from his eyelids fluttering at my voice, he didn’t give any indication that he’d heard me.
He clearly had a fever, even though he hadn’t acted sick earlier, but I had no idea how high it was.
Do I toss him in a cold shower?
