Oliver pulls away from my kiss quickly. Up close I see the green flecks in his blue eyes again. His eyes remind me of looking out an open window on a spring day, feeling a cool breeze on my face.

He pulls away farther from me, keeps backing up until he’s in the corner of his cot. His mouth is opening and closing, but he isn’t making any actual sounds, any actual words.

I sort of expect there to be huge blaring sirens, air-raid horns, something loud and noisy happening. Or at least more running, more panic, more yelling. But the only thing I hear is my heartbeat drumming in my ears. The workers calmly shuffle around with clipboards, making hushed, quick phone calls. It’s weird that no one is talking to us. I feel like someone should be talking to us, telling us something, and I feel a bit like a mouse in a laboratory. I wonder if there’s a pamphlet—So You’re Going to Be in Quarantine for Thirty Days—or something.

Oliver keeps staring at me from the corner of his cot. I hear his phone vibrate in his pocket, but he either doesn’t feel it or doesn’t care, because he just keeps staring at me.

He finally shapes his mouth into a word, but speaks so quietly I wouldn’t hear him if he was farther away from me. “Why?” he says hoarsely.

I don’t say anything. I wish I knew what to tell him. I wish I had an answer for him.