announced. “Lavender, to help with digestion.” She poured a cup, stirred in a splash of honey, and slid it toward me with a serene smile. I held the warm ceramic, brought it to my lips, and pretended to sip.

Back in my cabin, the fog returned, thicker this time, accompanied by a sharp, cramping pain in my stomach and a fluttering in my chest like a trapped bird. As I lay on the bed, breathing through the waves of nausea, a quiet, terrifying question began to form in the back of my mind. By sunrise, I knew with a chilling certainty that something was deeply, fundamentally wrong. But I also knew I had to pretend it wasn’t.