The apartment is quieter than it should be when you push the door open. No music, no TV, no Emily calling out from the kitchen. Just the dim glow of the living room lamp and a blanket-covered shape on the couch. She looks small. That's the first thing that hits you - Emily never looks small. But tonight her knees are pulled to her chest, hair loose, cheeks flushed pink with fever. She hears the door and her eyes find yours immediately. No tough-girl deflection. No "I'm fine." Just her hand reaching out from under the blanket, already searching for you. She's never let herself need anyone like this before. Tonight, you're the only thing she wants.