At the end, all of them decided the same thing: the best course of action was to stay silent and wait out Evelyn's episodes.
And so, the night dragged to a close.
The next day dawned with blistering heat, the winds of the Deathland hissing through the tents and over the dunes.
Evelyn's condition had improved—her complexion was no longer ashen, her lips had regained color, and the violent spasms had ceased.
She was breathing evenly now, her eyelids fluttering with the occasional twitch but nothing more. To anyone else, it should have been a relief, a blessing worthy of cheer.
But there was no cheer.
The group sat together in a circle, yet they may as well have been scattered across separate worlds.
Their atmosphere was heavy, suffocating, a weight that pressed down on their shoulders and sank into their chests. Not a single word of celebration was uttered. Not one smile crossed their lips.
Because Art had still not returned.
