Moira's POV

Something's wrong with me.

I lean against the bathroom sink, staring at my reflection as another wave of nausea crashes over me. The porcelain feels cold beneath my palms, anchoring me as the room tilts sideways.

'This is the fourth morning this week.'

My stomach churns violently, and I barely make it to the toilet before everything comes up. The retching leaves me weak and shaky, cold sweat beading on my ...