“Okay,” Grace says.
First, I pull Amber’s wrist through the arm hole, and then, in unison, we move up her arms. As they flop around, I can’t help feeling bad for her. She doesn’t make a sound, and her eyes remain closed as I manipulate her enough to center the hole of the shirt on her head. Then I glance down at her shoulder. My stomach plummets to the ground. I let out a cry.
“Cole, come quick,” I demand.
“What?” He crouches next to me, and I point to what I just found.
Grace takes a quick look. “Please tell me that’s a bruise,” she says.
“Definitely not,” I say. “It looks like she was injected with something; you can still make out the needle stick.” I squint and examine the area around it.
“What’s with the black ring around the injection site?” Cole asks.
“I don’t know. Hurry up, we need to show Roméo.”
Cole scoops Amber into his arms, I help Grace to her feet, and we take off down the hall.
“Zeus, let’s go,” I say. When he comes into the light, I chuckle because he really does look like he was rolled in soot.
“I better grab something to eat and drink,” Grace says. “And I can get Roméo on the way if you want.”
“Sure. Can you please grab something for me to eat too?” I ask.
She nods. “Of course.”
After Cole puts Amber to bed, he sits next to me on the floor with his legs out straight. He pats his thighs, and I go to him. I sit sideways so I can bury my face in the crook of his neck. He wraps his arms around me and strokes my hair. “What do you think happened to her?”
“Not sure.” I wrap my hand around his arm, and it shakes.
“Are you afraid?” he asks, glancing down at my hand.
“Kinda.”
“You’re okay; I’m here.”
I kiss his cheek. “My dad used to say that to me. And I love that you say that to me, too.”
Cole clears his throat, and his arm stiffens.
Zeus finally comes in and plops next to me. As I rub his head, he lifts his face and licks my chin.
“You’re still handsome, Zeus,” I say to him.
He plops his head down on his paws with a hmmph. His droopy eyes give away his true feelings.
“Are you seriously counseling him?”
“He’s depressed.”
“Try traumatized. But dogs only see black and white—”
“Which would explain why he’s freaking out. He’s darker.”
Cole rests his head back against the wall. “Zeus, you look ridiculous.”
“Cole.” I elbow him, and he laughs.
Zeus licks Cole’s face, and Cole bats at him, trying to get him to stop. I can’t help laughing. Sometimes I think Zeus is the only reason either of us are still sane. Even in crappy situations, he still brings us joy, even if it’s when he runs away from his own farts.
Footsteps echo outside the room. I stop laughing and grab Cole’s hand tight.
“Here we go,” I say.
I hold my breath.
Cole’s arm stiffens next to me.
Roméo walks into the room with wrinkled clothing and unruly hair. He holds a pen and a pad of paper. His face is stern, and red veins spider around the whites of his eyes.
Roméo doesn’t acknowledge us. His eyes are glued to Amber. He slowly steps closer to her, focused and intense. He jots something down. I wonder what it is, but for now, I keep my mouth shut. Lifting the blanket off Amber, he inspects her feet, legs, stomach, and hands. He’s careful to never touch her skin. As he examines her, his jaw tightens.
“How high was the fever?” he finally asks.
“So high she was seizing. But the shower brought it down.”
Whatever Amber has isn’t good. He doesn’t even need to say it; it’s obvious by the way his hand shakes as he writes.
I hate the haunting feeling circling around in my head right now.
“Which arm?” Roméo asks.
“Right.” I point to it.
Roméo moves to the other side of the bed, pauses, and takes a cleansing breath before pushing Amber’s sleeve up to her shoulder. He swallows hard, but doesn’t move a muscle.
My palms sweat as I clench them together. Deep down in my gut, I feel it … whatever Amber has … Roméo knows exactly what it is. And judging from the frown on his face, it’s not something he wants to see.
I glance right. Bruno and Grace have appeared, his arm wrapped around her, their faces anxious while waiting for the verdict. When I hear a crinkling of paper, my eyes are drawn back to Roméo.
He writes more things down, but the jerky motion of his arm tells me he’s not writing so much as attempting to draw something. He sighs in obvious frustration.
“Would you like me to sketch it for you?” I ask.
“She’s good,” Cole says. “Really good.”
“The United Powers needs to see what the injection site looks like. Make sure it’s as detailed as possible. Can you do that?” He turns to me and scrunches his forehead. His eyes are bloodshot.
“Sure.”