It was an unusually quiet morning at the traphouse. The sun had already climbed high into the sky, and the house, usually alive with noise and activity, felt eerily still. Corey and Jake lounged in the living room, lazily scrolling through their phones. Colby, perched on the kitchen counter eating cereal, paused mid-bite and frowned.
"Has anyone seen Sam?" he asked, his voice breaking the silence.
Jake glanced up. "Nah, haven't seen him all morning. It's weird though—he's usually back from his run by now."
"Yeah," Corey added. "You think he's still asleep?"
Colby shrugged but couldn’t shake the strange feeling in his gut. Sam was always the first one up, the one who would nudge Colby awake, grinning and insisting it was "too nice out to waste the day." Their bond had been unbreakable since they were fourteen, forged by years of shared secrets and unspoken understanding. It wasn’t like Sam to disappear—not like this.
Something was wrong.
---
Colby walked down the dim hallway to Sam’s room. The door was shut tight. He knocked softly at first, then louder when there was no response. "Sam? You up, man?"
Silence.
With growing unease, Colby twisted the knob and stepped inside. The air was thick and hot, the shades drawn tight, plunging the room into darkness. His eyes adjusted, and then he saw him.
Sam was curled up in his bed, blankets pulled up to his chin. His face was pale, save for an unnatural flush staining his cheeks. His chest rose and fell in staggered, shallow breaths, and his body shivered violently beneath the covers.
“Sam? Hey—Sam!” Colby rushed over and crouched at his side, pressing a hand to his friend’s forehead. He flinched. Sam was burning up.
“God, you’re boiling,” Colby muttered, his concern mounting. He shook Sam gently, trying to rouse him. The younger boy’s eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t wake fully. "Hang tight, okay? I’ll be right back."
Colby sprinted to the kitchen, grabbed some fever medicine and a cool, damp cloth, and hurried back. He pressed the cloth against Sam’s forehead, whispering, “You’re gonna be okay, dude. Just hang in there.”
It took a while, but finally Sam’s eyes blinked open. They were glassy, unfocused, and brimming with confusion. “Colby?” he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah, I’m here,” Colby replied softly. “You’re sick, man. You’ve got a fever.”
Sam blinked again, his breathing uneven. “Don’t go.”
Colby frowned. “What?”
“Don’t leave,” Sam repeated, his voice trembling. “I—I think I’m seeing things. Everything’s weird. I don’t wanna be alone.”
Colby’s chest tightened at the quiet fear in Sam’s voice. Without hesitation, he climbed into bed beside him, careful to avoid jostling him too much. Sam instinctively curled toward the warmth, his shivering slowly easing as Colby wrapped his arms around him.
“It’s okay,” Colby murmured. “I’m right here. You’re not alone.”
The room fell quiet, save for the sound of Sam’s labored breaths and Colby’s steady voice whispering soft reassurances. Eventually, both boys drifted into an uneasy sleep.
---
Colby woke with a jolt hours later. The bed beside him was empty.
“Sam?” he called groggily, sitting up. The blankets were tossed aside, and a sick feeling hit Colby square in the chest. He scrambled out of bed and stumbled into the hallway, his pulse pounding in his ears.
