That threw me. Dying? I looked back at the warehouse. Sick, yes. I had to admit that. But surely not dying. Only, there had been blood. I could hear them coughing, even now. I winced at the sound. A thought occurred to me. I jerked at Hosea, demanding his attention. “Windy,” I said. “You told me she was sick.”

“She was.”

“Was? Then she’s better?”

He marched on. “What do you care?”

“I care,” I grumbled. “Windy is sweet, always smiling at everyone.”

He hesitated, looking over his shoulder. “I told you. The fever runs its course in days. Windy isn’t better, Cobane. Windy is dead.”

I froze, forcing him to stop or drag me down. “Impossible!”

He scoffed.

I opened my mouth to berate him then, suddenly, I thought of Robin. If Windy is dead then— “What about the baby?” I asked.

“What baby?”

“The giant said one baby had died.”

“Yes, one child died. I never met it.”

“Her—she was a girl,” I whispered. My blood went cold at the admission. “Did he tell you her name?”

“What does it matter?”

Heat stung the back of my eyes. “Her—her name was—” I stopped. I couldn’t say it. My love for Robin collided with my duty to uphold the Compromise. An arrow of grief split my temple and my hands found either side of my head, holding it together. My knees buckled and I fell to the ground rocking back and forth.

He looked down on me for a moment, then knelt. He pulled the white mask down so it hung from his neck. “You should have stayed where I told you,” he said, softly. “Go back to your room. Go to sleep, and tomorrow it will be like none of this ever happened.” He took my arm. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

Slowly, his words penetrated the fog surrounding me. He was right; I needed sleep. I would start on Jones’ assignment tomorrow, after I’d rested. Only, something about that word, home, sapped my strength. I could still hear them coughing—and that blood. I looked down at my wrist, my veins—our blood. I shoved a fist against my mouth, stifling the thought.

He tugged. “Come on, Cobane. You’re going home.”

I glared up at him, yanking my arm away. “No!”

He shook his head. “Okay, I’ve had enough—William!”

I jumped to my feet. “Hosea, wait! I’m sorry—” He wasn’t listening. I had to stop him. I spoke before I could think. “Hosea, I need to help!” I shouted. I cringed; I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

He pointed a finger at my nose. “See how you cringe? You don’t want to be here.”

“No, I don’t!” I snapped.

He faced me, lifting one brow.