The squeak of her rubber-soled shoes on the polished hallway floor always announced her before she crossed the threshold.

She set the pitcher on my tray table and looked at me.

“You’re shaking,” she said.

Her voice was soft, but it carried absolute medical authority.

I hadn’t realized my teeth were chattering.

The chill felt deep in my bones, completely separate from the room temperature.

Rachel walked over to the window and touched the glass with her palm.

“The seal is tight,” she said.