A small voice broke the silence: “Dad… my little sister won’t wake up. We’re so hungry.” Without a second thought, he grabbed them and rushed to the

Micah didn’t speak. He just pointed a trembling finger toward the sofa.

Three-year-old Elsie lay curled beneath a heavy winter blanket, despite it being a warm spring afternoon. Her face was paper-pale, yet two angry red flags of fever burned on her cheeks. Her lips were cracked, her chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged hitches.

“Elsie,” I breathed, pulling the blanket back.

I pressed my palm to her forehead and jerked it back instinctively. The heat radiating off her skin was terrifying. It felt like touching a radiator. I scooped her up immediately. Her head lolled back against my shoulder with zero resistance, her limbs heavy and entirely limp.w

“We’re leaving. Right now,” I said, forcing a terrifyingly false calm into my voice. “Shoes on, Micah. No questions. You stick right by my leg.”

He scrambled to his feet, almost tripping over his own sneakers. “Is she just sleeping, Dad?”