Seventy-five

Sibane's POV

I held my hair up with a trembling hand, leaning over the toilet bowl as another wave of nausea wracked through me. My knees dug into the cold tiles, and my stomach cramped as I vomited again—though there was nothing left to bring up but the acidic sting of bile and the hollow ache of an empty belly. Tears clung to my lashes as I coughed, breath hitching in uneven gasps.

This wasn't just grief. It was something else.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and leaned my forehead against the wall, willing the dizziness to pass.