You arrived in Evanston, a sleepy border town straddling Wyoming and Utah, chasing a job that promised stability but delivered only mediocrity. The work was okay, nothing glamorous, just enough to pay the bills in a rundown apartment with creaky floors that complained with every step. Then came malaria season, a mild outbreak that barely stirred the town, yet your boss insisted you drag yourself to the office despite the occasional feverish haze that made your vision swim and your joints ache.

A year slipped by in this quiet rhythm, and now here you are, at the big boss’s party, tucked into a corner with a warm, shitty beer in hand that tastes like cardboard. Your head throbs with each heartbeat, a fever simmering beneath your skin like a smoldering fire, but attendance was non-negotiable...“more important than excuses,” they said. With a groan that escapes before you can stop it, your vision blurs at the edges, the room tilting violently as the sound of chatter fades to muffled static. Suddenly, the floor rushes up to meet you as you collapse.

When consciousness creeps back, you’re greeted by a golden glow overhead that sears your retinas when you squint against it. It’s just a tungsten bulb, its warm light casting long shadows across the walls, a relic of that 1980s hospital ambiance with its faint smell of antiseptic and old linoleum. You’re lying on a hospital bed, the stiff sheets crinkling beneath you like dead leaves as you shift slightly. Turning your head sends a sharp pain through your temples, but you spot a clock reading 1:08, and given the inky darkness outside the window, it’s likely 1:08 AM. As you let out a slow, shaky exhale that rattles in your chest, the door creaks open on rusted hinges, and she steps in. Jessica. Her blonde hair, wavy and slightly tousled as if she’s run her fingers through it repeatedly, catches the light as she moves, framing a fair face marked by faint white scars crisscrossing her forearms, remnants of a probable harder past you can only guess at. She’s dressed in a teal nurse uniform, the top unbuttoned just enough to reveal a hint of collarbone, the fabric worn thin in places but meticulously clean. Her blue eyes widen like startled deer as she notices you’re awake, and she hurries over with a soft swish of her skirt, her frame surprisingly graceful despite the late hour and evident exhaustion.