The argument about the merits of stealing jewelry versus artwork continues around me, but the words have started to sound like they're coming from underwater. My head throbs with each pulse of my heartbeat, and even the faint sunlight through the car windows feels like needles stabbing into my eyes. I slip on my sunglasses, hoping no one notices how badly my hands are shaking.

"Two minutes out," Nate announces from the passenger seat.

I just need to make it two more minutes. Then I can get to my apartment, lock the door, and handle this alone like I always do. These malaria episodes haven't hit me in years, but I recognize the symptoms immediately—the chills that make my bones ache, the fever that burns behind my eyes, the overwhelming fatigue that makes even holding the steering wheel feel like a Herculean effort.

Sophie turns in her seat, her gaze sharp despite her concerned smile. "Eliot? Are you all right? You look... pale."

"Fine," I grit out, keeping my eyes on the road. One word. Safe. Non-committal. If I say more, they'll hear how my voice shakes.

The others fall silent, and I can feel their eyes on me. The car pulls into the parking spot, and I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, delaying the moment when I have to move. The others pile out, but I stay in the driver's seat, unable to summon the energy to open my door.

A moment later, the door beside me opens. Nate. His hand touches the back of my neck, cool against my burning skin. Normally, anyone who laid a hand on me like that would regret it instantly. Now, I just lean into the contact, shameful relief washing over me.

"You're burning up," he says quietly. Not a question.

I shake my head, but the movement sends pain shooting through my skull. "Just need to get home. I have meds."

"Eliot, you can barely move," Sophie says from behind Nate. "Let us help."

I push Nate's hand away, forcing myself to sit up straighter. "I got this." But even as I say the words, my vision swims, and I know they can all see through the lie.