Zayne’s POV
The clock on the wall ticked like it wanted to mock me.
It was past eight in the evening, and I was still at my desk, staring at the same contract I’d been staring at for an hour. The numbers blurred, and my signature at the bottom looked like it had been written by a man on autopilot, which wasn’t far from the truth.
My eyes burned, and my head pounded with that same dull pain that had been my companion for years. Sleep deprivation. I had stopped keeping count, but I knew the number, over three hundred hours since I had had more than two hours of rest in a stretch.
Every doctor I had seen had said the same thing: “You need to rest, Mr. Reed.”
If it were that simple, I would’ve done it. But I can’t. My mind doesn’t shut down. It’s wired to run until it burns itself out.
I
