Mia's tiny apartment was quiet except for Harry's labored breathing. His fever hadn't broken, and the pain in his head seemed to be getting worse. After helping him to her bed—the only real bed in the apartment—Mia went to the bathroom and dampened a washcloth with cool water.

When she returned, Harry was lying still, his eyes closed, his face tense with discomfort. Mia sat on the edge of the bed and gently placed the cool cloth on his forehead. His eyes fluttered open at her touch.

"You ...