Corbyn glanced up, a hint of self-consciousness crossing his features before he schooled his expression, conceding, “Technology has its uses.” He handed her the tablet so she could review what he had been writing, a little smirk tugging at his lips. “Though, I maintain that pen and paper are far superior.”
“Still, a stunning admission from technology’s greatest critic,” Sadie teased, earning a huff that might have been the start of a chuckle.
They exchanged amused glances before she took her usual seat. She was shocked when she looked down at the screen and saw an entirely new chapter based on a conversation they had engaged in the previous day. A small, genuine smile spread across her face as she realized he wasn’t just humoring her, but making real strides with the novel’s progress.
“I’m impressed,” she said. “You’ve been busy.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he responded with a shrug. “Thought I might as well be productive.”
Riley pushed himself up from the floor, padding over to say hello to Sadie properly. She scratched behind his ears before he sprawled at her feet as they settled in for the day. The rain drummed steadily against the windowpanes, the sound easing the tension building behind her eyes. They passed the tablet back and forth for the next hour, discussing plot points and character motivations.
Gone was the adversarial tension of their early sessions. Corbyn still pushed back on specific suggestions, but now he didn’t take issue with explaining his reasoning.
The morning slipped past and Sadie tried to ignore the steadily increasing pressure behind her eyes. She’d suffered migraines since college, stress-triggered monsters that occasionally knocked her out for days, but she couldn’t afford to succumb today, not with so many people counting on her to help him get this book across the finish line.
Around midday, the clouds fully parted as the rain finally ended, sending a shaft of bright sunlight slicing through the study windows. The sudden glare hit Sadie’s eyes, sending a spike of pain through her skull. She couldn’t stop her flinch, nor the sharp breath she took as she turned away from the window.
“Reed?” Corbyn called, although his voice seemed to come from far away. “You alright?”
“Fine,” she managed, but even she could hear the edge in her tone. “Just the sun in my eyes.”
Corbyn said nothing, but she could feel his gaze lingering on her. Sadie forced herself to focus on the screen to avoid his eyes, though the words were becoming hazy, blurring at the edges. The symptoms were all too familiar: sensitivity to light, the low throb at her temples gradually intensifying, and faint nausea curling in her stomach.
She tried to push through, but her mind started tripping over details. When she read the same paragraph three times without absorbing its meaning, she knew there was no use denying it any longer. Eventually, she lowered the tablet to her lap, pinching the bridge of her nose as she closed her eyes briefly. She tried to breathe through the pain, feeling as if a vise were squeezing her head.
Corbyn’s chair creaked as he leaned forward, and when she forced herself to look at him, his eyes were fixed on her. She hadseen so many of his expressions over the last few weeks, but the concern that was etched on his face was new.
“What’s wrong?” he coaxed, and she closed her eyes for another moment, trying to push down the guilt she felt for putting them in this position.
“Nothing. Just tired.” She straightened, trying to project alertness she didn’t feel. “Let’s continue with…”
A particularly vicious throb of pain made her wince visibly, and she was forced to turn her head away from the windows and the sunlight that was currently streaming through them.
“That’s more than just tired,” Corbyn said, voice surprisingly gentle. “What’s happening?”
She hesitated as another wave of guilt washed over her, realizing she couldn’t push through and instead was letting him down. She admitted softly, unable to meet his eyes, “It’s a migraine. I’ll be fine.”
Corbyn’s eyebrows drew together, and she braced herself for his irritation that the rest of the day would be wasted. Instead, he rose from his chair, his voice soft when he asked, “How bad?”
The simple question, asked without skepticism, caught her off guard, and her grip on the tablet loosened.
“I’ve worked through worse,” she said, though another stab of pain immediately made a liar of her.
“That’s not what I asked,” he insisted. Corbyn moved to the windows, drawing the heavy curtains closed. The room dimmed, and the sudden lack of light eased the pain enough for her to sink back into the chair. “Does light make it worse?”
Sadie blinked at him, surprised by both his actions and his knowledge.
“Yes,” she said, finally looking up at him. “And sound, eventually.”
Corbyn nodded as if confirming a theory before explaining, “Edie gets them occasionally. Bad ones. Lays her out for days sometimes.”
He stepped toward his desk and turned off the lamp, leaving only the softer fireplace light illuminating the room. Riley’s head came to rest in her lap as if sensing her discomfort.
“You should have said something sooner,” Corbyn continued, but his tone lacked its usual gruffness.
“We have work to do,” Sadie protested weakly. “The deadline…”
“Will still be there tomorrow.” He cut her off with a dismissive wave. “Why are you so exhausted anyway? You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
