KAIA

The next morning, I wake up more exhausted than usual—and freezing. It’s only the start of fall, so I shouldn’t feel this cold. I try to get up, but even that feels like a struggle.

A drop of water lands on my hand. Frowning, I glance up, half-expecting to see a leak in the ceiling. Nothing. When I look back down, I realize my hands are damp. My neck. My face. All wet. Not from a leak—from me.

But why? I’m not hot. I’m shivering. Then it hits me—I’m sweating, yet I’m ...