Beneath my hand, her skin is crawling with life. Sweat seeps through her pours, goose bumps form in the wake of my fingertips. Her skin is fevered, not with illness, but anticipation. And, just beneath, searing blood rolls through her veins.
I can feel her heartbeat. She has an arrhythmia. I didn’t notice it on the ship, but I sense it now. Beat, beat, beat, and then a long pause that alludes to her mortality.
I wonder if she knows.