Miguel was thoroughly exhausted. He had been working since 8:00 the night before to clean up messes all over the ship. Although most of the night had been spent cleaning up public places like the Cult, Miguel had spent the entire morning whisking in and out of private rooms. The ship's luxurious design had proven to be most inconvenient in the midst of a disaster of this magnitude.
At last, he had been relieved. His yawn was wide as he stepped around the corner, his eyes landing on the girl making her way unsteadily down the hall in front of him. She was going in the opposite direction, he saw. The young man stared at her wearily a long moment, but it was clear from the way she was moving that something was wrong.
Without an ounce of regret or second thought of sleep, Miguel at once walked after her. His longer steps, rushed, quickly overtook her slow and stumbling ones.