*******
Acheron sat up abruptly, a harsh cough tearing through his chest. His breath caught, and his shoulders trembled with each wheeze that followed. The door soon burst open, and Althea hurried in, her face drawn tight with worry as if the sound alone had pulled her from outside.
He tried to speak, but another fit of coughing cut him off. Instead, he lifted a shaking hand, gesturing weakly for water. Althea was already crossing the room in quick, silent strides. She poured a cup from the pitcher on the side table, nearly spilling it in her haste, and pressed it into his hands.
He drank greedily, and only when the last drop was gone did the coughing ease, leaving his breathing shallow but calmer.
