Lorraine's knees buckled. The ground swayed. Before she could hit it, a pair of strong arms caught her—ironclad and trembling.
"Lorraine!" Leroy's voice was a rasp against her ear, rough and unsteady. The golden mask that had once gleamed with pride was streaked with spatter, shadowing eyes that burned too raw. His gloved hand cradled her head, the other clutching her waist as if by holding tighter he could will the sickness, the fear, the weakness out of her body.
"You're burning up—Damn it, you're— You have to rest…" His words broke apart, harsh command warring with tenderness that cracked through no matter how hard he bit it down.
Lorraine's fingers curled weakly into his chest. For a moment, she let herself lean, breathing against him, listening to the frantic drum of his heart beneath his clothes. Just for a moment.
Then she pushed lightly, forcing her weight back to her own feet. Her voice came hoarse, but steady. "I'm fine."
