Linsy’s hand clutched the cool wall of the corridor, her knuckles white against the cream-colored tiles. Her body trembled violently, her breath ragged and shallow. A wave of nausea surged again, twisting her insides like a cruel fist. She leaned over, retching into the porcelain sink, but nothing came out. Only the raw sound of her throat scraping itself, and the taste of bile at the back of her tongue.

Her skin was ghostly pale, drained, like the color had abandoned her in ...