It began as a wrongness in the air, a subtle tilt in the world.

“I don’t feel right, Mom,” Mason whispered.

His plate slipped from his fingers and the cake broke apart across the stone pavers.

His hands went to his throat.

And then his eyes lost their focus, and he sank down onto the soft grass.

“Mason!” I was on my knees beside him before the scream had fully left me, my hands on his chest, and I felt the cold already moving into his skin.

“Mason, look at me—”