Every morning, when she brought fresh linens to the upper floor, she heard his coughing before she reached the door. It was deep, persistent, and painful. When she entered the room, the air felt heavy, almost damp, clinging to her skin.
“Good morning, Mr. Lowell,” she said softly one day as she began dusting the shelves.
He lifted his head slightly and managed a tired smile. “Morning, Brianna. I apologize if I look terrible.”
“You do not need to apologize,” she replied gently. “Are you feeling any better today?”
He shook his head. “Not really. Doctors keep saying everything looks normal. Blood tests, scans, nothing explains why I feel like this.”
Brianna nodded, but her eyes drifted around the room. Thick curtains blocked out the sun. The windows were always shut. The walls were covered in expensive fabric panels that hid their surface entirely.
“Do you ever open the windows,” she asked carefully.
“I cannot,” Zachary replied. “The cold air makes my chest hurt.”
That answer stayed with her.
