73. Feverish

River woke with a start, his body on fire. The sheets were soaked through with sweat, clinging to his skin like a second skin. His head pounded, vision swimming as he struggled to orient himself. With trembling limbs, River pushed himself up and swung his legs off the side of the bed. The room tilted and spun, but he gritted his teeth against the nausea rising in his throat. River stood on unsteady feet, clutching the bedpost for support. He took a deep breath and steadied himself, jaw clenched in determination. He was fine. He was not getting sick. He never got sick! One step. Then another. His muscles screamed in protest, and the wound on the shoulder hurt like hell, but he pushed onward. He made it to the door and paused, vision dimming for a moment. When it cleared, his gaze sharpened with purpose. He put the key in and unlocked the door. He found Riley in her room, staring out the window. Her shoulders were tense, and her hands curled into fists at her sides. Waiting. Watching. Ri