I did not sleep that night.
Not from anxiety. Not from the particular restless quality of too much information unresolved. I lay in the dark with my eyes open and said the name quietly at intervals, testing the weight of it, the way you test a surface before committing your full weight to it.
Sophia Reyes.
It was a name that existed in a completely different register from all the other names I had accumulated in the past weeks. Vasiliev and Renner were names on documents, names that connected to structures and transactions and federal processes. Garrett Finch was a name on a business card in a Hartford office above a dry cleaner. Margaret Osei was a name at the end of three pages of private records.
Sophia Reyes was the name of someone who had held me before I had language for being he
