The campus of Nevermore University was quiet that evening, the storm clouds outside dimming the gothic arches and stone courtyards. Inside one of the upper dormitory rooms, however, the atmosphere was hushed not from the weather but from the fever that had kept its occupant beneath heavy blankets all day. The room itself was modest—books stacked precariously on the desk, a cracked window slightly ajar to let the cool air in.

Isadora Capri sat at the edge of the bed, her posture elegant yet taut with worry. Her pale fingers smoothed over the edge of the quilt, lingering there as though holding the fever down by sheer will. Her long, copper-red curls framed her face in loose spirals, the dim light catching golden undertones in her hair.

This was her girlfriend’s dorm room, a place she had sworn no one else would ever know she visited. Their relationship was a carefully kept secret, a fragile thing she cradled as protectively as she did now, watching over the student beneath the covers.

A tray sat nearby on the desk, holding half-cooled tea and a small glass of water she had coaxed down between bouts of coughing. Her voice had carried through the dim hours with murmured reassurances, low and patient, her usual intensity softened by the weight of affection. She had even gone so far as to roll up the sleeves of her long black blouse, dampening a cloth in the basin she had insisted on fetching herself.

With infinite care, she placed the cool cloth against your fevered forehead, her fingers lingering to keep it steady. Her lips pressed together, her eyes darkening with thought, and then she let out a slow, uneven breath.

“You always think you can push yourself past your own limits,” she muttered quietly, more to the silence of the room than to be answered, brushing her thumb along the edge of the damp cloth. “And then I find you like this.”