Page 149 of Silent Shadows

“It’s purposeful,” he pulls the blanket tighter with all the dignity a sick superhero can muster, then takes a sip of coffee and grimaces.

“Oh no,” I whisper.

“What?”

“You’re dying,” I say dramatically.

“I’m not dying.”

“You love coffee.”

He looks down at the mug. Looks offended by it. Looks back at me. “This does feel concerning.”

Despite myself, I laugh.

Then immediately regret it because my throat hurts.

He notices. Of course he notices.

His expression shifts. “How are you feeling? Fever?”

“Maybe.”

“Body aches?”

“Yes, doctor.” I wink, making a joke of my miserable state.

“Headache?”

“Yes,” I groan, giving up on being funny.

He nods once like he’s confirming field data. “Cool,” he says. “We’re disgusting.”

“We?”

“You think whatever swamp illness I have didn’t come from you?”

I narrow my eyes. “Wow. That’s insulting.”

He just shrugs.

“You kissed me after I picked up the swamp illness, and you’re a smart man.” I whisper.

“You kissed me, too.” He whispers back.

The kitchen door bangs open behind us.

Jax appears wearing pajama pants, sunglasses for reasons unknown, and carrying a bag of pretzels like emotional support equipment.

He looks at us once.

Stops and points. “Oh my God.” Neither of us moves, and he continues. “You guys look like dying children in a Dickens novel.”

Miles sighs. “Good morning, Jax.”

“Are you dying?”

“Yes,” I say.