As she limped away, Isaac moved without hesitation, swooping her into his arms. “I’ll carry you. No need to strain yourself.”
Then, as though I were an afterthought, he called over his shoulder, “Wendy, wait here.”
My body went cold. Whether it was the fever or something far worse, I wasn’t sure. The strength drained from my limbs, leaving me weak and lightheaded. I didn’t even attempt to argue or call him back.
He hadn’t asked my permission. He didn’t even look twice.
So I stood there silently, leaning against the nearest wall to stop myself from swaying.
Isaac’s act had always been convincing—but only until Candice entered the scene. Then his true self bled through, unfiltered. He never noticed the difference, but I did. Every time.
With a bitter smile tightening my lips, I turned away and made my way, alone, to the section for fever patients.
The healer barely needed to examine me to confirm it—my temperature had skyrocketed to 41.3°C.
Apparently, the burn had become infected, worsened by stress and emotional turmoil, leading to a viral complication. I was given herbs to brew into tea and advised to start an infusion as soon as possible.