I woke up already tired.
Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes, but the kind that sits heavy in your bones, like something had drained me before I even opened my eyes. For a long moment, I didn't move. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, blinking slowly as I tried to gather enough energy to sit up.
It felt… wrong.
A slight frown tugged at my lips as I finally pushed myself upright, my body moving slower than usual. The room tilted faintly before settling again, and I instinctively reached up, pressing my fingers against my temple.
"Probably just lack of sleep," I murmured to myself.
That made sense. The trip, everything that happened in Paris, the emotional mess I still hadn't fully sorted through—it would be stranger if I wasn't exhausted.
Still, something about this felt different. Heavier.
I swung my legs off the bed and stood, only to pause when a wave of dizziness hit me harder this time. My hand shot out, gripping the edge of the nightstand until the feeling passed.
"…Okay."
I let out a quiet breath and straightened. I didn't have time to dwell on it. I had work.
—
By the time I arrived at the hospital, the smell hit me first.
It was sharp, sterile, familiar—and yet somehow overwhelming.
I slowed mid-step in the hallway, my stomach twisting so suddenly it caught me off guard. The scent of disinfectant, something I had long grown used to, now felt suffocating. It lingered too strongly, crawling down my throat and settling uncomfortably in my stomach.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to keep walking.
You're fine. It's nothing.
Maybe I hadn't eaten enough this morning. That had to be it.
I adjusted my grip on my bag and continued forward, trying to ignore the unease curling in my stomach.
—
By mid-morning, I couldn't focus.
I stood at the nurse's station with a chart in my hands, staring at it longer than necessary. The words blurred together no matter how hard I tried to concentrate, as if my mind refused to process something so simple. A faint pressure settled behind my eyes, dull but persistent.
"Sophie?"
I blinked and looked up.
One of the nurses stood across from me, her brows drawn together slightly in concern. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I answered immediately.
Too quickly.
I cleared my throat and forced a small smile. "Just a little tired."
Her gaze lingered on me, skeptical. "You look pale."
"I'm fine," I repeated, softer this time, though it sounded less convincing even to my own ears.
She hesitated for a moment longer before nodding and turning away, but I could still feel the weight of her concern as I looked back down at the chart, pretending I could actually read it.
—
The nausea hit just before noon.
One moment, I was walking down the corridor toward a patient's room, reviewing what I needed to say. The next, my stomach dropped so sharply that I stopped mid-step, my breath catching.
There was no warning, no gradual build—just a sudden, overwhelming wave that made my entire body tense.
I turned quickly, barely managing to reach the restroom before pushing the door open and rushing inside. The cold tile floor blurred beneath me as I gripped the edge of the sink, my breathing uneven.
"Don't—"
Too late.
I barely leaned forward in time before everything came up.
The sound echoed too loudly in the empty space, each wave leaving me more drained than the last. My fingers tightened around the sink as my body resisted, then gave in again.
When it finally stopped, I stayed there, hunched over, breathing hard as I tried to steady myself.
Slowly, I lifted my head.
My reflection stared back at me from the mirror.
Pale. Exhausted. My eyes slightly unfocused, like I wasn't fully present in my own body.
"…What is wrong with me?" I whispered.
I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water onto my face, the sharp chill grounding me slightly. Droplets slid down my skin as I braced my hands against the counter, forcing myself to breathe evenly.
Food poisoning? No.
I hadn't eaten anything unusual.
Stress? Maybe.
But this didn't feel like stress.
This felt… physical.
Real.
I grabbed a paper towel and wiped my face, pressing it lightly against my skin before tossing it aside. My reflection didn't look any better.
You're overthinking it.
It's just your body catching up after everything.
That's all.
—
The rest of the day passed in fragments.
I moved from patient to patient, saying the right things, doing what I needed to do, but none of it felt entirely real. It was as if I were watching myself from a slight distance, my body operating on autopilot while my mind lagged behind.
Every so often, another wave of nausea would rise, lingering just long enough to make me tense before fading again.
My head ached. My limbs felt heavier with each passing hour.
And no matter how much I tried to ignore it, I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.
—
By the time I got home, exhaustion had settled deep into my bones.
I stepped into the mansion quietly, slipping off my shoes near the entrance and hoping—just this once—that I could make it upstairs without running into anyone.
"Sophie?"
I stopped.
Of course not.
I turned slightly, my expression already neutral as I faced him.
Harley stood in the living room, his gaze fixed on me. It was sharp, observant in a way that made it impossible to hide anything—not that I would admit that.
"…You're home early," he said.
"I'm not," I replied evenly. "Same time as usual."
His eyes didn't leave my face.
"You don't look well."
My fingers curled slightly at my side, a flicker of irritation rising instinctively.
"I'm fine."
There was a brief pause.
"You said that before," he said calmly.
Something in his tone made my chest tighten, though I couldn't quite place why. It wasn't confrontational, but it wasn't indifferent either.
"I'm just tired, Harley."
His jaw tightened ever so slightly, like he didn't believe me. Like he wanted to push further.
But he didn't.
"…Get some rest," he said instead.
I nodded once. "Yeah."
Before he could say anything else, I turned and walked toward the stairs, my steps steady even if my body didn't feel it.
—
The moment I reached my room, I closed the door behind me and leaned back against it.
The quiet settled around me immediately, but instead of comforting me, it only made everything feel louder.
Heavier.
I let out a slow breath, my body sagging slightly as the exhaustion I had been holding back finally caught up to me.
Pushing myself off the door, I walked over to the bed and sat down, my movements slower than usual.
Something wasn't right.
I could feel it now, more clearly than before.
This wasn't just tiredness. It wasn't just stress.
It was something else.
Something I couldn't explain.
My hand rested unconsciously against my stomach, my fingers pressing lightly as if trying to understand something I couldn't see.
A strange, uneasy feeling settled in my chest.
I didn't like it.
Not at all.
"…It's nothing," I whispered quietly.
But for some reason—
It didn't feel like nothing.