As Ray's mother sat there, struggling to hold back her tears, Wilfred left the room faster than a bullet out of a barrel. Ray took her hand, trying to steady her trembling fingers, offering what little comfort he could. She was never like this. His mother had always been a strong woman, someone who stood tall no matter the situation. She never let anyone push her around. And yet, here she was, completely broken.
When the tears finally stopped, Ray hesitated before speaking. "So… what happened to Dad? What's wrong?"
His mother took a shaky breath. "Your father… he's gone."
Ray's stomach twisted. "Gone?" He clenched his jaw. "Do you mean… is he dead?"
He had expected this. The Shadow Plague never let anyone live for long. At best, an infected person had a year to survive—a year of suffering before death. It had already been a miracle his father lasted this long.
But his mother shook her head. "No… He was taken. Taken by the Shadow Plague."
