I was so weak, Rion carried me to the lab by himself, just scooped me up in his arms and carried me like a bridegroom on his wedding night. When he set me down on the bed, I clutched at his flight suit and whispered, “Don’t leave me.”
I don’t remember any of this.
“I won’t,” he promised me.
He held my hand while Ansel worked to set up an IV and took blood. I was so sure I had what Jareth had. That was simply the flu, right? And I had it too, I just knew it.
But I’m not that lucky. I can’t stop thinking about that glass. I shouldn’t have run my hand through it. I should’ve wrapped a cloth around my fist first, or something. I shouldn’t have touched Jareth’s mask with that green slimy shit all over it, even though he wasn’t breathing and the others couldn’t get the clasps to work with their big-ass gloves on. I shouldn’t have even entered that decontamination chamber.