Apparently, Remus couldn’t muster the energy to type the final letters into his text. Sirius couldn’t blame him. It was hotter than Satan’s arse crack. He let the phone drop out of his hand and onto the sweat-soaked pillow, his eyes sliding shut. His skull had become a steamer basket that was slowly cooking his brain. As his mind swirled, he allowed the last several days to wash over him like the licking flames of a fever dream.