"What did I tell you?" Kasteil asked, voice low and steady, though a thread of exasperation wove through it.
I lay curled under a pile of blankets on the bed, shivering despite the heater humming beside me. My nose was stuffed, my throat raw, and every breath felt like dragging sandpaper through my lungs. I sniffled pathetically.
"Not to go too far," I mumbled, voice thick and nasal.
"Not that," he said.
"You're not a husky?" I tried again, managing another weak sniff.
"Holland," he said, the word half warning, half fond sigh.
"That I shouldn't leave your backyard?" I offered, eyes watering.
"Not that." He waved the digital thermometer in front of me like evidence.
"That I would catch a cold?" I asked finally.
"And did you listen?" His eyes narrowed slightly, but the anger I braced for never came—just quiet concern.
"I did," I insisted, pulling the blanket higher. "I went out for a few minutes, built a snowman, and then I came back."
