Chapter 1

Georgia

The fluorescent lights hum overhead as I adjust the electrodes on the dummy mannequin, checking the placement for what must be the hundredth time today. My fingers move with practiced precision, even though exhaustion tugs at the corners of my awareness.

"You're still here?"

I glance up to find Marcus leaning against the doorframe of my lab, arms crossed, eyebrows raised in that knowing way of his. He's already got his coat on, scarf wrapped around his neck.

"Obviously." I gesture at the equipment spread across my workstation. "These sensor arrays won't calibrate themselves."

He steps inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. "It's almost eight. On a Friday."

"Your point?"

"My point is that normal people go home. Have dinner. Watch Netflix. You know… decompress."

I return my attention to the electrode placement, marking the optimal positions on my diagram. "Normal people aren't trying to revolutionize our understanding of neural activity in sleep-deprived subjects."

"Right. How could I forget?" He pulls up a stool and sits, clearly not taking the hint. "So tell me about this study that's got you camping out in the lab like it's your apartment."

A smile tugs at my lips despite myself. This is what I love talking about, what gets my blood pumping more than any holiday party ever could.

"Okay, so you know how most sleep studies focus on well-rested individuals or people with diagnosed disorders?"

"Sure."

"Well, we're missing a huge population. People who are chronically sleep-deprived by choice or circumstance. Their brain wave patterns during what little sleep they do get could tell us so much about cognitive resilience, about how the brain compensates when it's running on fumes." I'm gesturing now, my hands painting pictures in the air. "If we can map those patterns, understand the mechanisms, we might be able to develop interventions that actually help people who can't just 'get more sleep' because of their jobs or their lives or whatever's keeping them up."

Marcus nods slowly. "That's actually pretty brilliant."

"I know." I grin. "The problem is finding the right participant. I need someone who's genuinely sleep-deprived, not just tired from a late night, but running on minimal sleep consistently. And they need to be willing to spend several nights in the lab with sensors attached to their head."

"Sounds sexy."

"Doesn't it?" I laugh, making another notation. "I'm thinking I'll start canvassing tomorrow. Coffee shops, late-night diners, anywhere insomniacs congregate."

"Tomorrow's Saturday."

"Yeah, and?"

He gives me a look. "Georgia. It's mid-December. In New York City. Don't you want to, I don't know, enjoy the holidays? See the tree at Rockefeller? Ice skate? Do literally anything festive?"

I set down my pen and meet his eyes. "Why would I do that?"

"Because it's nice? Because you've been working yourself into the ground for months?"

"I like working myself into the ground. It's productive."

"It's lonely." His voice softens, and I hate that he's going there. "Come on. Everyone needs a break sometimes."

I turn back to my equipment, fiddling with settings that don't need adjusting. "Breaks are for people who have someone to take breaks with."

The words come out sharper than I intend, and silence settles over the lab like dust.

"Georgia—"

"I'm fine, Marcus. Really." I force brightness into my tone. "I've got my research. I've got this study that could actually make a difference. That's enough."

"Is it though?"

I don't answer. Instead, I pull up the protocol on my tablet, scrolling through the parameters even though I've memorized every detail.

He sighs, standing up and pushing the stool back under the counter. "You're allowed to want more than just work, you know. That doesn't make you less dedicated or less accomplished."

"I know that."

"Do you?"

I look up at him, this colleague who's become a friend despite my best efforts to keep everyone at arm's length. His expression is concerned, not pitying, which is the only reason I don't tell him to mind his own business.

"I'm good at this," I say quietly. "The research, the science, figuring out how things work. I'm good at it, and it matters. People need better sleep science. They need solutions."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer I've got right now." I straighten my shoulders, pulling my professional armor back into place. "Besides, the holidays in the city are overrated. Crowds, overpriced everything, tourists blocking the sidewalks. I'll take my quiet lab any day."

Marcus shakes his head, but he's smiling a little. "You're impossible."

"I prefer 'dedicated.'"

"Same thing in your case." He heads for the door, then pauses with his hand on the handle. "For what it's worth, this study really is important. You're doing good work."

"Thanks."

"But if I come in on Christmas and find you've slept here, I'm staging an intervention."

"Noted."

He leaves, and the lab feels bigger somehow. Emptier. I push the feeling away and return to my calibrations.

The truth is, I don't know how to do holidays anymore. Not since everything fell apart. Not since I learned that trusting someone with your whole heart can lead to the kind of betrayal that makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.

Work doesn't betray you. Research doesn't lie. Data doesn't promise you forever and then take it back when things get complicated.

I power up the EEG machine, watching the baseline readings scroll across the screen. These patterns make sense. They follow rules. Laws of physics and biology that don't change based on feelings or convenience.

My phone buzzes. A text from my sister.

"Mom wants to know if you're coming for Christmas."

I stare at the message for a long moment before typing back.

"Probably not. Big project at work."

The three dots appear immediately.

"You always have a big project at work."

"This one's different. Could be groundbreaking."

"Georgia."

Just my name. That's all she sends, and somehow it carries the weight of everything she's not saying. All the concern, the frustration, the love that I'm not sure I deserve.

"I'm fine. Really. Tell Mom I love her."

I silence my phone and set it face-down on the counter.

The mannequin stares at me with empty eyes, electrodes trailing from its plastic scalp like tentacles. In a few days, I'll have a real person in that chair. Someone tired, desperate for answers, willing to let me poke around in their neural patterns while they sleep.

I'll learn something. I always do.

And if the lab is quiet on Christmas, if the only company I have is the hum of machines and the glow of monitors, well. That's a choice I'm making. A valid choice.

I just wish it felt less like hiding.

My computer chimes with an incoming email. I welcome the distraction, pulling up my inbox. It's from the department head, asking about my progress on the grant application.

Right. Because groundbreaking research requires funding, and funding requires convincing people that your work matters more than the hundred other proposals crossing their desks.

I open the document and start typing, losing myself in the familiar rhythm of academic persuasion. Words flow easily when I'm writing about science. It's only when I try to explain myself, my choices, my life, that I stumble.

Outside the lab windows, the city glitters with holiday lights. Somewhere out there, people are laughing. Drinking hot chocolate. Kissing under mistletoe.

And here I am, exactly where I want to be. Exactly where I've chosen to be.

I tell myself that's enough.

I tell myself I'm fine.