“Think about your position at work.”

“Alan Vance will not accept a missing presentation at nine o’clock tomorrow morning,” she continued, her thumb repeatedly adjusting her heavy leather handbag strap on her shoulder.

“You know how he operates.”

June let out a tiny, dry cough against my collarbone.

Her tiny fingers clutched my shirt fabric, holding on weakly while her flushed skin radiated a heat I could feel straight through my thick cotton top.

Her whimpering had faded into a weak, exhausted pant, her small ribs rising and falling in fast, shallow hitches that made my skin cold with concern.