Veer's throat tightened.
Either Kaya was going to die, or she was gravely sick. There was no other explanation. Anger? No. Sulking? Impossible. This wasn't silence out of spite—it was silence out of death creeping closer.
By the time morning came, Veer looked worse than Kaya had ever seen him. His eyes were ringed with deep, ugly shadows—panda-like, darker than hers had ever been—and his expression was a mess of exhaustion and raw panic.
Kaya blinked awake, her lashes flickering, and the first thing she saw was Veer's face hovering above hers, his eyes wide, hollow, and bloodshot. She flinched instinctively, her hand twitching into a fist—ready to smack him for watching her like a creep.
And for the first time in hours, Veer felt hope spark in his chest. His heart leapt. Yes! Yes, hit me. Yell at me. Curse me out. Be you again, Kaya. Just—be you.
But instead, Kaya froze, relaxed her hand, and murmured softly, "I'm sorry… I didn't see you there."
Veer's heart stopped.
