I was about three steps away from my body giving up entirely when we finally found shelter, a half-collapsed shop with shattered windows and a door barely hanging onto its hinges. It was probably filled with rats or something worse, but at this point, I didn't care.
Mason stepped inside first, sweeping the place with his usual, almost bored-looking caution. Then he started rummaging through the shelves like he was picking up groceries.
I stumbled toward the counter and collapsed against it. "I think I'm dying."
Mason tossed me a water bottle. "Drink."