Wil stepped into the room. It smelled enclosed, like the windows and door had been shut for too long with a sweaty, unwell man trapped inside. He went to the window to open it and let in some air before going to Jacob's side and crouching down in front of him to look into his face.
"It's Thursday," he replied in German, not liking Jacob's ghastly pallor. "When was the last time you ate? You feel hot. I'm going to get you some water." He returned quickly, a glass of fresh water with a straw in hand to his brother could sip slowly. "No, it hasn't been three months, but I was worried about you. Drink."