Chapter 3
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Luna
Present
Just a dream. Wake up, Luna. Wake up.
The thing about nightmares though - the really brutal ones - is that they don't always release you when your eyes snap open. They linger, clinging to your consciousness like a shadow. When I finally break free, my heart's hammering so hard I can taste it. My hands won't stop shaking, and there's this icy feeling crawling up my spine. I press my palm against my chest, trying to steady myself, desperate to quiet the storm raging through my mind and soul.
You're okay. You're alone in the house. No one is here.
"Oh God..." I catch myself before I finish the thought. My palms sting - I've done it again, left crescent-shaped marks where my nails dug in. Ten months of these nightmares and I'm starting to wonder if they'll ever stop. If my brain will finally understand we need to move on.
Nine fifty. Just over an hour until the morning meeting. Thank God for remote work - it's the main reason I took this job at SensorLife, even if the pay isn't great. Being able to work from home beats any fancy salary, especially in my situation. The company's decent enough - just another IT firm where I blend in as one of their many software programmers.
Through my window, Chicago's streets are painted in gold and orange, and the sight reminds me why I stayed even after everything that happened last year. Not like you had a choice , whispers that nagging voice in my head.
True enough. But Chicago... it's more than just a city to me. It's where my soul feels at peace even if that peace is now shadowed by my own demons. Every corner holds a piece of me - my family playing tourists at Cloud Gate, my eighteenth birthday at Skydeck with my best friends, sharing three chocolate cupcakes drowning in whipped cream. This is home. My little condo in Bucktown might not be much, but it's my sanctuary.
Roxy, my best friend, loves reminding me I'll end up a hermit, dying alone in this place. But honestly? These two rooms in this converted brick mansion, with its fancy black French windows stretching across three stories, are all I really need.
My ancient Nespresso machine groans in protest, probably telling me it's time for an upgrade. But as long as it keeps brewing my daily dose of survival juice, I can't bring myself to replace it. Roxy gave it to me as a housewarming gift when I moved in. Sure, it was secondhand then, but the faithful thing has kept me caffeinated all these months.
First rule of survival: don't even think about talking to me until I've had at least two gulps of coffee. After that, I'm all yours, but until then? Nonnegotiable.
I sweep my hair into a messy bun and slip on my glasses - the ones Dad swears I stole straight from Harry Potter's face during my Hermione phase.
Setting my coffee beside my laptop, I dive into the daily flood of emails and to-do lists. That's the thing about working at a startup - your social life basically disappears, but there's something addictive about knowing you're building a product that could actually change lives.
We're building something special - an app that uses sensor bracelets to keep tabs on hospital patients. It's a game changer, especially for big city hospitals where staff are stretched thin and patients pour through the doors nonstop.
But it's more than just monitoring. When medical staff input symptoms, our AI algorithm can predict with eighty-three percent accuracy which patients need immediate attention. Pretty impressive, right?
Sure, the work is intense, but it feels meaningful. I need that - that sense that I'm making a real difference. Because if I'm honest? Take away my work and I'm left with nothing. I wouldn't call it depression, exactly, but ever since last year, when everything went sideways...let's just say having a purpose keeps me going.
Whoever said it's cool to have a stalker, please give him my number. I'll punch him for free.