The door opened all the way, exposing a narrow, freezing hallway that smelled of damp drywall, stale grease, and something heavy and sweet—like rot or fever.

“She’s in the back,” Lucy whispered, her voice barely carrying over the sound of a leaky pipe dripping somewhere inside the walls.

She turned and walked into the darkness of the apartment, her oversized shoes dragging against the torn linoleum floor. Daniel Mercer stepped inside, closing the door behind him to block out the biting March wind. He clicked his heavy flashlight on, angling the beam toward the floor so he wouldn’t startle anyone.

In the small living room, two little boys sat on a stained mattress pushed against the wall. They couldn't have been older than five and four. They were wrapped together in a single threadbare wool blanket, their small faces smudge-marked with dirt, their eyes wide and round in the gloom as they watched Daniel. Between them lay an open cardboard box containing a few plastic toys with missing wheels.

On the floor beside the mattress sat the groceries Daniel had bought. Lucy had already opened one of the cans of powdered milk, mixing it with tap water in a plastic cup using a plastic spoon. She handed it to the smaller boy, who took it with both hands and began drinking so fast he nearly choked.

“Go easy, Toby,” Lucy whispered softly, rubbing his back with a hand that was red from the cold. “There’s plenty.”

Daniel felt a knot tighten in his throat. He looked past the children toward a bedroom door that stood half-open at the end of the hall.

“Lucy,” Daniel said gently. “Stay here with your brothers.”

He walked down the narrow hall, his work boots making the floorboards groan. He pushed the bedroom door open.

The room was pitch-black, the window covered by a dark blanket nailed into the wooden frame. On a sagging mattress in the center of the room lay a woman. She was covered in a pile of winter coats. Her face was hollow, her lips cracked, her skin a waxy yellow-gray under the pale beam of Daniel's light.

Daniel hurried to her side, dropping to one knee. He pressed two fingers against the side of her neck.

Her pulse was there—faint, rapid, and threadbare—but her skin was burning hot. Pneumonia or severe sepsis. She was shivering violently in her sleep, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.

“She wouldn’t wake up,” Lucy’s voice came from the doorway. She was standing there holding her little brother’s hand, looking small and terrified. “I tried to give her water yesterday, but she couldn’t swallow. She told me to take care of the boys before she stopped talking.”

Daniel stood up immediately, pulling out his cell phone. “She’s in septic shock, Lucy. I’m calling an ambulance right now.”

As he dialed 911, Daniel shone his flashlight onto a small wooden nightstand beside the bed to look for any medical cards or identification. Among a few empty pill bottles lay a worn leather wallet, unzipped.

Inside was a faded state ID card.

Daniel’s hand froze mid-dial as the name on the ID came into clear view under his light:

SARAH MERCER.

Daniel’s breath caught in his chest. He looked from the ID back to the unconscious woman on the mattress, then slowly turned his head to look at the eleven-year-old girl standing in the doorway with gray, terrified eyes.

Sarah was his younger sister.