"How much longer do you want me here?" Phoebe asked as Winter exited the lab.

Winter glanced at the clock. The day had been excruciatingly long. First River, then the trip to Jacobsen's...was it really only six? "Did you finish today's paperwork?"

"Almost. But I was planning on getting dinner soon."

"I'd like you to finish those tonight. Tomorrow's going to be just as busy, and the last thing we need is to fall behind. But I don't care if you do it before or after dinner." Winter moved to the door.

"Where are you going?" Phoebe asked.

Winter resisted the urge to touch the vial in her pocket. "I have a few red plague patients that need extra monitoring." It was only half a lie. She did plan on checking on River.

But she had something else to take care of first.

She moved slowly through the hospital, pausing to listen for footsteps, ensuring that no one saw her near Adams' office. When she knocked at the door, she was greeted with silence.

She was ready to give up quickly. Her hands still trembled, and if Adams didn't notice that, the panic in her voice was bound to give her away. It was probably for the best that he didn't—

The door swung open. "Plague Saint," Adams greeted her. "I don't believe I asked to see you."

"You didn't. There's something we need to discuss. May I come in?"

Adams' eyes narrowed. "What's this about?"

Say something. Anything. "One of our patients, despite my initial assessment, seems to be making a full recovery. And now he's talking about raising hell over the hospital's billing methods."

"He won't get very far."

"That's what I thought, at first. But he has a lot of interesting friends." Please let me in. Winter was in too deep now. If this wasn't enough to pique Adams' interest right now, he was going to want names and details later.

"Well, come in. But I have a meeting with the mayor in an hour, so we may have to deal with this later."

There wasn't going to be a later. Not for Adams. Winter closed the door and twisted the lock. As she crossed the room, her gaze darted to the mug on his desk, sitting in its usual spot. There was just one unfortunate detail: the mug was empty.

The mug always had coffee. Winter had never seen it empty.

You idiot. You've only been in here a few times. What, you thought you were just going to empty the vial into the drink while he wasn't looking? Pray the coffee would be strong enough to hide any change in taste?

"Long day?" Winter asked, nodding at the empty mug, hoping she sounded casual.

"You could say that." Adams gave the mug a disdainful look. "May need another cup or two."

Winter's gaze moved to the coffee maker on the counter behind his desk chair. How much worse could she possibly make things? "If you are going to make some, would you mind sparing me a cup?" If her request wasn't enough to push him to make coffee, maybe she could lure in him with the idea of seeing under the mask.

Sure enough, Adams chuckled. "You going to drink it with that mask on? Or have I earned a chance to see the man behind the Plague Saint?" Despite his light tone, there was something darker in his gaze. Winter wasn't sure if he was asking or demanding.

"I suppose it will have to come off."

Worst case scenario, she could run away and ditch the costume and pretend this mess had never happened.

"Have a seat, then." Adams moved to the coffee maker. "So, who's this patient you're having trouble with?"

Adams' back was to her. Now was her chance. "His name's—" Winter racked her brain for a fake name while she drew out the vial and silently unscrewed the cap. Her final product was a disgusting shade of brown. Adams' black mug would hide that, though. "—Jim Gomez."

One drop. Two. Three.

Adams' head turned to the right. Winter leaned back and tightened her hand around the vial. Adams frowned. Her heart was ready to explode.

"I don't recognize the name," Adams said.

"I'm not surprised. He came in with that wave the other night." Winter wondered how long it would take for symptoms to appear, if this worked. After that, he'd probably have hours. As long as she kept busy somewhere else and avoided letting him get her help, she'd have nothing to worry about.

Except leaving this meeting without exposing herself.

Adams returned to the desk with the pot of coffee and a second mug. He set the mug in front of Winter and filled it, then moved to his. The sound of the liquid hitting the bottom of the mug was deafening.

Adams sank into his chair and picked up his death sentence, eyes on Winter. His gaze burned through her. "Did this Gomez name any of his friends?"

He took a sip.

Winter lifted her eyes. "Hm?"

"Gomez. You said he had interesting friends." Adams took another sip. "Are you all right, Plague Saint?"

"What makes you ask?"

"You seem distracted."

"My apologies." Winter adjusted her position in her chair and slipped the vial back into her coat pocket. "I am." Distract him from Gomez. Distract him from Gomez. Something. Anything. "Someone close to me has caught red plague."

Surprise flashed across Adams' face, though he tried to hide it as fast as possible. "I didn't think you had anyone of the sort."

"I do."

"And this...loved one of yours? Are they here at the hospital?"

An image of River in his hospital bed flashed in Winter's mind. "No. I'm treating him at home."

Adams opened his mouth, but whatever he wanted to say was cut off by a fit of coughing.

Winter's stomach flipped. "Are you feeling all right, Director?"

"I'm sure it's nothing." Adams cleared his throat. Hesitated. "Of course, if it were something serious..."

"If it's a plague, early treatment is better." Winter rose to her feet. She'd found a way out. "I have some medicine I take whenever I'm not feeling well, and it has me better within hours. Would you like me to bring you some?"

"Well, we still have to discuss Gomez—"

"Your health is of the utmost importance, Director. Besides, it will only take me a few minutes to fetch the medicine and come back." Winter headed for the door before he could argue. All she had to do was avoid him, maybe feign an emergency elsewhere...

"Well, all right," Adams conceded. "I do have my meeting soon, though."

Winter returned to her office, mind racing in a dozen different directions. "Phoebe," she said.

Phoebe looked up from the file she was reading. "Yes, Plague Saint?"

"I have important lab work to do. I'm not to be disturbed under any circumstances." Winter opened the cabinet behind her desk and dug around until she found a bottle of pale blue liquid. "If Director Adams comes by, tell him to drink a glass of this, and that I'll talk to him before I leave tonight."

Winter set the bottle on the desk. The liquid was used as a base to add other ingredients to, and wouldn't do anything to Adams. Not anything good, anyway. "If he asks where I am, tell him I'm dealing with an emergency with another patient. And if he asks you for information on someone named Jim Gomez, say that I have the file with me."

Phoebe gave her a perplexed look. "Are those—would I be lying to him?"

"You think I'd ask you to lie to the director for me?"

Phoebe hesitated. "I—I don't know—" she stammered.

"Can I trust you or not?"

Phoebe swallowed and nodded. "Of course you can. Don't worry about a thing."

Winter sighed. "Thank you." She glanced at the file in Phoebe's hands. "As soon as you're done with your work, you're free to leave."

Winter entered the lab and locked the door behind her. She grabbed the notebook she'd taken from the underground lab off a shelf and sat down to go through it. The key to deciphering the secret messages had to be somewhere. Maybe she could search the other lab again. There could be more secret levers or compartments.

After spending god-knew-how-long watching text blur in her vision, she turned a page and found something that might actually be useful: drawings.

Winter studied the sketches of the human body. The arrows pointing to various organs were labeled with more coded text, but Winter was less interested in that and more interested in the fact that whatever was written was color-coded. Blue ink, green ink, gold ink, purple ink, red ink...

Winter flipped through diagrams for a while before picking one to examine closer. One of the arrows pointed to an arm covered in bruises. At the other end were just three words. The text was in blue, and Winter glared at the letters, willing them to make sense. Cmvf pwfs hsffo.

None of them were long enough to be about the bruising. Maybe one of them was a color. That would make sense, given the plagues, but which one? Bruising could be blue or green. Winter tried the next page and found a chart full of numbers.

The categories along the left side looked complicated, but the top only had five: hsffo, cmvf, wjpmfu, zfmmpx, sfe. All in black ink this time, but hsffo and cmvf had been on the previous page. Maybe they—

Someone pounded on the lab door. Winter jumped. The book slipped from her hands and fell shut on the table. Damn it. Hadn't she told Phoebe not to bother her?

"Plague Saint!" Adams yelled. His voice was hoarse and scratchy. How long had it been since Winter left him? An hour?

Maybe if she were quiet, he would look for her somewhere else.

"I know you're in here! What the hell is going on?"

This was happening faster than she'd expected. Winter pushed her chair back from the table, grabbed her staff, and stood up. She couldn't let Adams die in her office. She had to be as far removed from his death as possible.

Winter flung open the lab door. "Walk with me." She stormed past Adams.

"Wait. Not until you explain—"

"I'll explain while we walk." Time to see who was really in charge.

"Plague Saint, I—"

Winter spun around. "Do you want to die?" She snarled the words with far more malice than she'd intended. Adams' eyes went wide, and she got a really good look at him for the first time. Bruises crept up his neck, the whites of his eyes had gone yellow, and the handkerchief he clutched in his right hand was stained with blood.

"Your office," Winter hissed. "Now."

As they walked the hospital halls, Winter barked questions at him.

"How long ago did you start feeling sick?"

"It really hit me about ten minutes after you left my office," Adams answered. "I came to ask you for that medicine, and your assistant told me to drink from that bottle on your desk and said you were dealing with an emergency."

"Did you?"

"Yes. Half an hour later I only felt worse, so I went looking for you again. I've been searching ever since. Your assistant was gone when I came back to your office, but the light in your lab was on—"

Adams continued to ramble about his symptoms. Winter watched him out of the corner of his eye. His cough was awful, his skin had paled dramatically, and he was struggling to walk. Thankfully, he made it into his office. While Adams staggered to his desk and sank into his chair, Winter closed the door. Now she could ask her last remaining questions.

"How many people did you talk to since our meeting?" Winter asked. "Anyone else know you're feeling sick?"

Adams rubbed his forehead. "I rescheduled my meeting with the mayor. He said he was busier than expected tonight anyway, and we didn't talk long. I also told a few nurses I was looking for you, but I didn't say why. I think they noticed something was wrong, though." He frowned. "Why do you ask?"

"I need an idea of whether this is going to spread." Until she said that, it hadn't occurred to Winter that Adams might run around and pass along any of the five plagues he was infected with. Why had this seemed like such a good idea a few hours ago?

"Do you know what I have?" Adams tipped his head back and closed his eyes. "And can you treat it?"

"Did you drink your entire mug of coffee?" Had three drops done this, or had it been even less?

"Yes, I drank all of it, how is that relevant?" Adams burst into another coughing fit. When he was done, he asked, "Do you know what's wrong with me or not?"

Winter walked to his desk and stood over him. "Of course I know what's wrong with you," she said. "You're infected. You've been exposed to all five plagues, and most, if not all of them, have already taken hold. The immune system can only take so much. Especially at your age."

"What?"

For a moment, Winter wanted to pull off the mask. Reveal herself. Should she? Adam was dying anyway—no, that was ridiculous. It didn't matter what he did or didn't know. She'd had enough stupid ideas for one day.

"Plague Saint?" Adams gasped.

"I'm not your Saint," Winter told him. "I killed him two weeks ago."

"That's why you've been—" More coughing. "Why? Who are you? Who do you work for? Someone after my job?"

"I'm not some political rival, and I don't work for any of your enemies." Winter lifted her chin. "You wouldn't know me. I'm just another poor citizen to you. Worthless."

Adams tried to push himself up. Winter's grip tightened on the staff in her hand, but she had nothing to worry about. Adams collapsed on the floor.

"You won't get away with this forever," he gasped. "And I have friends. They'll kill you."

Winter couldn't stand here anymore. Nausea overwhelmed her. Her legs were ready to give out. She backed away from Adams and stumbled to the door.

You wanted this. You did this.

The hallway outside was silent. Winter exited the office, pulled the door shut softly behind her, and walked. She didn't have a destination in mind, only her pounding heart screaming at her to get as far away as possible.

Her free hand slid into her coat. The vial was still there. Her fingers wrapped around it.

Death. She had made liquid death.