Chapter Two
Rheda
I’ve always loved sleep.
Not in the way people joke about it—like it’s something you can earn at the end of a long day, or something you negotiate with like staying in bed an hour after the alarm clock goes off.
No. I mean I’ve loved it.
The moment my body starts to go, I feel it... something loosening, something giving way in a way nothing else does. It’s the only place where everything falls quiet. No expectations. No noise that belongs to anyone else. Just the slow, inevitable pull under.
People call it rest, but for me it has always felt more like an escape. It’s the only time the world doesn’t press in quite so hard.
It takes me without permission sometimes, yes. There’s no controlling the moment it happens, no clean slipping away, just that sudden drop, that shift where I’m no longer in control of the edges of things, but I don’t fight it.
Because once I’m there, it’s... quieter. Even when it’s too vivid, too real, too much—there’s still a kind of distance to it. A separation I don’t get when I’m awake.
I’m desperate to sleep tonight.
I’m currently perched on top of my bed, eyelids heavy, breath slowing without my permission, already feeling that familiar pull at the edges of my awareness.
I’m still in my work clothes—an itchy blouse tucked into a pencil skirt that never quite sits right—but I don’t move to change.
I don’t reach for the duvet. I don’t try to make it comfortable.
I just sit and let it come.
I inhale slowly, followed by a longer exhale, repeat it five times.
My phone vibrates against the mattress, sudden enough to break the moment cleanly. The screen lights up, Olivia’s name flashing across it in a facetime request.
Olivia is my best friend. She has always had a way of deciding things for both of us, friendship included.
She never really gave me a choice, talking enough for both of us, dragging me into friendship groups with people who didn’t really want me there.
“I do,” she’d say, like that was enough. And somehow, it always was.
The noise cuts through the room.
I swipe to answer.
Her face fills the screen instantly—flushed, laughing, loud music bleeding through the speaker behind her. Someone shouts in the background, glasses clink, everything bright and chaotic and alive in a way that feels... distant.
“Rheda!” she grins, slightly off-centre, like she’s already had too much. “Where are you? We’re out! You should so come.”
I glance at the dark room around me.
“I just got home,” I say. It comes out quieter than I intend. “Long day.”
“Boring,” she sing-songs, pouting dramatically before laughing again. “Come out! I miss you!”
“I’m tired, Liv.”
She studies me for a second. Really studies me. The noise dips behind her, like she’s stepped away from the others. She brings the phone close to her face until I get a full glimpse of her left nostril.
“You okay?” She asks.
“I’m fine.” I respond quickly. “It’s just been a long week. You know, the usual.”
“Arrest many psychopaths?” She teases.
“Lots.” I smile, finger tapping the screen to check the time. I groan. “Damn. It’s already too late. I need to get some sleep.”
“Ugh. Okay,” she groans. “But you promise you’re coming this Friday? My birthday. No excuses. I’ll call the big boss myself to get you off shift if I have to.”
I hesitate, just for a second, and she notices.
“Pretty please!” Her voice pitches. “I want you there! Come on, you said you would!”
“Yes, I know,” I say guiltily. “But you know the deal, Liv. If something important comes up—"
“I’m something important!” She wails. “Rheda, you promised!”
“Okay! Okay!” I relent quickly, knowing she’ll only cause a scene and this whole conversation will be stretched for another fifteen minutes until I finally give in. Olivia doesn’t take no for an answer.
“I’ll be there.” I agree. “I’ll figure something out.”
“Yay!” Her squeal pierces through the screen like an alarm. Her smile snaps back into place, bright and careless. “I’ll hold you to that.”
I swallow hard.
Someone behind her shouts something. Her head snaps left.
“Sambuca?” She gasps. “Okay, yes, I’m coming!”
She turns back to me.
“Love you, Rheda. Got to go. My birth-week celebrations start now!” she says quickly. “I’ll see you Friday.”
The call ends with another burst of laughter, the screen going dark again, plunging the room back into quiet.
I stare at my reflection for a moment in the dim lighting of my home screen: the faint outline of my face; the way my eyes don’t quite look like they belong to me when the light hits them like this. The silence seems heavier now. I swallow down the lump in my throat, my mind circling.
My eyes flick to the time again, and I curse.
I have lost sleeping time I cannot really spare.
With a groan, I sink lower into my bed and finally pull at the duvet, yanking it over myself until I’m in a cocoon. I place my phone on the bedside cabinet and roll over. But just as I find a comfortable position, it rings again.
Different tone.
My stomach drops before I even answer. I know exactly what it’s going to say.
“Rheda Ainsley.” The voice is clipped. “Report back to the unit.”
I blink. “I just left. I’m not on shift until—”
The line goes dead. Just like that. No goodbye. No explanation. No clarification.
I keep the phone to my ear a second longer anyway, listening to the silence.
Work.
My shoulders tighten.
Of course it is.
I lower the phone slowly. Then I force myself to move.
My blouse sticks slightly to my back as I reach for my shoes. Fatigue presses behind my eyes, heavy and bruising, but it doesn’t matter. Work never waits for me to catch up to it.
It just calls.
And I always go.