Malachi accepted the glass of water when it was offered, but he did not drink it just yet, in spite of his perpetually dry throat.

“I won’t let them get infected,” came his quiet insistence. While she moved the bedsheets, he lifted the glass to his mouth and sipped at it slowly, before setting it aside.

Too much and he’d feel even sicker than he already did.

“Tomorrow,” he decided, glancing at her. “I’ll stay here until tomorrow. You can find me here then, if you still want to.”