So far as she could tell, nothing woke Sarah up. The room was dark and quiet, her blanket tucked tightly around her. She opened her eyes, seeing just the closed blinds blocking the sun in the window and the steady green lines of her heartbeat on a monitor. Stretching, she sat up, the blue blanket sliding down to loosely cover her legs.

"Good news, they ruled out infection," said Sarah's mother. Her mom was back in the chair, leaning a bit awkwardly so that her phone cord reached a plug in the wall. "I did ask them to turn away any visitors. Even if you and Finn don't have the same thing, you seemed stressed."

A pause and her mom asked, "How do you feel?"

"Honestly? Great," answered Sarah. "I mean, I'm starving, but my head feels clear and I'm not achy or anything."

"Good, I'll talk to the doctor. She said we might be able to take you home tonight. She's back to thinking migraines."

"Mom, um, do you know what happened to Finn?" asked Sarah, "I mean, if it was really different than me?"

"I don't think I'm supposed to know, honey, but I heard them talking about exhaustion and low blood sugar," said Sarah's mom. "Is he diabetic?"

"No? Maybe, I don't know," said Sarah. "But that's not something you catch..."

Her mom smiled as Sarah trailed off. She said, "Right, which is why they aren't enforcing quarantine any more. They really aren't supposed to tell anyone what he's sick with, I think they only said what they did because we were all worried about you."

Sarah nodded. Her room was quiet enough that when her stomach suddenly growled, her mom could hear it too.

"Hang on a minute, honey, I'm sure I can get you some lunch, and we'll see what the plans are."

Her mom unplugged her phone and bustled out of the room, leaving the door open. Sarah leaned back down against her pillows, her blanket pulling itself back up to cover her arms against the draft. Sarah wasn't sure when she'd fallen asleep, but judging from the light outside she'd been out for most of the day. The room was back to a misty white, if anything the glow was thicker and brighter than it had been before. A corner of the blanket lifted up, where Sarah could inspect it closer. It was still blue, just as blue as it had been when she'd tried to wipe the mist off it before.

When Finn had done whatever he did, the red coating faded in minutes, but her own blue was holding steady hours and hours later. She hadn't really inspected it that thoroughly, but it seemed like it hadn't faded at all. Would it ever? And what was the point?

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Sarah looked at the mist, feeling a pressure build up again. She needed to try it again. She could put the fog into her blanket, but clearly holding it and just touching it was dangerous. Sarah could still feel the burning sensation crawling up her arms. She was pretty sure that her falling unconscious wasn't caused by anything more complicated than that; if she'd really covered herself with the blue mist the way Finn said, then no wonder it hurt so bad.

But she couldn't help but wonder, could the blanket be more blue? Could she do it to other things? When Finn had collapsed, he'd painted everything in the room. The blanket folded back to let one of Sarah's arms out, and she reached out, intending to see if she could gather more glowing mist from the air. Which was when her mom walked back in, and Sarah quickly turned the reach into a stretch, yawning hugely.

"They still have an MRI scheduled to rule out strokes, but it sounds like we can go home tonight. I already got a prescription for propra, pro, a beta blocker that you're supposed to take daily. The doctor said it'll help with blood pressure and migraines, but there'll be a lot of appointments with Dr. Foster until she works out the right dosage. And I'm sure you'll be happy to hear you're missing school for a week or so, in case you faint again," her mom continued on, talking about plans and appointments and tests.

Other than getting to miss school, Sarah didn't pay much attention. She had no idea what was happening, or why she was the only person who could see and touch the glowing fog. Well, maybe not the only person, Finn apparently could too. Not that Sarah was going to talk to the jock about it. And maybe other people could too.

Sarah had told her parents about the fog when she first noticed them. Before she realized that she should just keep it to herself, she had spent a week in the hospital, had four MRIs, half a dozen CT scans, pokes and prods without number (including a particularly painful needle in her back), and most of a year of daily therapy with a host of psychologist, psychiatrists, counselors, and an acupuncturist. There had to be other people who'd figured out that talking about things they could see was stupid, right?

She'd need to be careful. She didn't want to talk to them, either. Who knew what crap they'd inflict on her. And they'd be able to see what she did - Finn had seen her, and she'd see Finn. Anytime someone was around they'd immediately notice when the mists changed color. Could she draw through windows? She could see through windows, was this stuff like light or like normal fog? And if she could put mist into stuff, could she pull it through? If she did it on accident, not realizing it, someone just driving by her house would know she was inside.

Looking down, Sarah realized that she didn't just have to worry about the fog changing color. Her blanket shone as it lay motionless on her lap. If she left a trail of stuff they'd be able to find her too. She could still see that her blanket was the same greyish beige as every hospital blanket, the blue color was somehow totally different from its actual color, even if she could easily see both at the same time.

Her mom was still talking, something about a low-sodium diet. "Mom," interrupted Sarah, "can I take this blanket home?"