Blake stared for a second before suddenly shooting to his feet.
"Zlatan?!"
The chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"What the hell is wrong?!"
He had one hand pressed against his throat, his breathing sounding wrong. His face had gone pale beneath a rapidly spreading flush, but his eyes weren't particularly fazed.
Blake rushed around the table.
"Help?! Somebody help!"
The restaurant immediately erupted into motion.
Several waiters abandoned their stations and hurried over. Customers began turning in their seats. One waiter was already reaching for his phone while another knelt beside Zlatan.
"What happened?"
"I don't know, he just fell down out of nowhere!"
Blake looked from one employee to another.
"Do you think this is a heart attack? Or maybe he's sick? What is this?"
No one had an answer.
Zlatan doubled over, coughing violently. His breathing grew harsher by the second, each inhale producing a faint wheezing sound.
