The word escaped Neville's mouth as an audible squeak. Several heads turned in the hallway, curious eyes fixing on him. Neville quickly devolved into a coughing fit, waving off the concern.
Sarah appeared beside him, patting his back. "You okay, Hope? You don't look well."
"Fine," Neville wheezed, still coughing. "Just—wrong pipe. Swallowed air. I'm fine."
Sarah didn't look convinced, but she backed off with a worried frown. "If you're sick, you should take the rest of the day off. Mr. Maxwell won't mind."
If only it were that simple.
[You heard me!] Shelly continued, oblivious to his distress. [And before you ask, no, I can't help you through it. System guides are strictly forbidden from interfering with natural biological processes. You're on your own, fishy boy!]
'When?' Neville demanded, already pulling up his calendar on his light brain while walking.
