Chapter 4: Alexis

Sleep never just happened for me.

Sleep was something I negotiated with. Like a hostage situation where I’m both the hostage and the negotiator, and everyone involved is exhausted, armed, and deeply irritated.

Unit C, Room 6, was exactly what Director Sato—Jeremy promised: functional. Bare. Bolted-down bed, desk, and closet. The kind of space that said we can move out in thirty seconds if we have to.

Perfect.

I unpacked and lined my things the way I always did. Slowly. Methodically. Not because I’m tidy, but because order is a language my nervous system understands. Toiletries in one row. Clothes folded tightly. Shoes were paired like they were ready to be grabbed and shoved into a bag at a moment’s notice. I looked at my closet and told myself I was settling in. That was a lie I told myself every time I moved somewhere new. Settling in implies I’m laying down roots. I don’t do roots.

I finished, stood there for a second, and stared at the door as if it might suddenly grow teeth.

Then my thumb slid across my palm. Once. Twice. Three times.

I stopped it so fast it felt like snapping a rubber band.

“Alright,” I muttered to myself. “Coping mechanism—check.”

My phone buzzed with a generic “welcome” packet Jeremy had sent. Protocols. Schedules. Meal rotations. A map of Unit C that looked like it had been made by someone who hated joy.

I skimmed it anyway. It was the usual droll of house rules and policies.

Somewhere in the living area, a vent hummed. The compound breathed around me. Quiet, constant. A machine doing what it was built to do.

Systems. Honest.

People, though? People are… well, let’s just say I don’t have a good experience with people.

And Reid Calder…

My brain tried to replay him like a highlight reel.

Tall. Broad. Built like he’d been carved out of marble and bad decisions. His hair was too long to be even considered in regulation. Green eyes that didn’t just look at you, they measured you, burrowed deep in your soul, like you’re some kind of puzzle that he could solve if he stared long enough.

Definitely control issues.

Which should have made him predictable, but he isn’t. Predictable, arrogant men didn’t stand in hallways like territorial guard dogs and act like my existence personally offended them.

I furrowed my brows. Why am I even thinking about him? He’s an asshole.

He didn’t like me. I’m fine with that. I didn’t come here to be liked. I have a job to do. Is that what pissed him off?

Under all the discipline and the professional tone, there was something about him, something I can’t read. And I’m good at reading people. I’m fucking amazing at reading people. But it was like he just couldn’t accept a new variable; he couldn’t accept anyone that he couldn’t muscle into submission.

Whatever. Good. Let him stew.

I brushed my teeth, took a shower, and changed into a black tank and sleep shorts. Not lingerie. Not armor. Vulnerable. The kind that didn’t invite commentary.

I climbed into bed. The mattress was firm. The sheets were clean. The pillow smelled like detergent and nothing else. My body didn’t care. My body never cared about any luxuries in life.

I just cared about how safe it felt.

I stared at the ceiling and counted the hairline cracks in the paint, the way I always did when my brain tried to sprint backward into memories it knew would win.

One crack. Two. Three.

My thumb moved again, but I caught it this time. Stop it!

I forced my hand flat on the bedspread, trying to pin myself to the present. Breathe in through the nose. Hold. Out through the mouth.

Again.

Again.

Again.

After a couple of deep breaths, my eyes finally started getting heavy, and I let myself drift, just enough to fall. Just enough to forget.

I woke up choking on air. It wasn’t something out of the movies where someone dramatically gasps and sits up, face made, hair expertly tousled.

No.

This was a silent, violent jerk of breath, like my lungs had been yanked open by force.

My heart was slamming into my ribs. My skin was cold and wet. And my throat hurt.

I can feel my chest rising and falling, and my pulse is so quick I can hear it pounding in my ears.

Fuck! A nightmare on my first day. That’s great. I hope no one heard that. I still wasn’t sure how thin the walls are.

I lay there for a second, stiff as a corpse, listening for any sounds outside my room. Any rushing of feet or whispered conversations.

Nothing.

No voices. No footsteps. No door slamming. No man’s voice in my ear.

Just the hum of the vents and the quiet scraping of the surveillance cameras doing their sweep.

I took a long exhale.

I tried regulating my breath. Calming my pulse.

My brain caught up a beat later and shoved the nightmare into my face.

Visions of hands. A grip. My wrist pinned to the floor. Someone saying my name as if I belonged to them.

I swallowed hard and sat up, forcing my eyes to focus on the room.

Desk. Closet. Door.

Present. Present. Present.

My thumb scraped across my palm before I could stop it.

Once.

Twice.

My stomach rolled.

I pressed my fist into the mattress and forced my hand still.

“Not tonight,” I whispered. “Try again later, trauma. I’m busy.”

The joke landed flat, but it did its job. It gave my brain something else to hold.

I got up from the bed, grabbed a bottle of water from the small vanity beside my closet, and took a long drink.

My hands were shaking. Not terribly, but it was visible. Enough that I noticed.

“Chill the fuck out, Alexis,” I said to myself.

I set the bottle down carefully, and that’s when I heard it.

A soft sound outside my door.

A faint shift. Like someone was walking by and paused in the hallway.

Every nerve in my body went sharp.

Did they hear? How long have they been there? Who is it?

Questions swirled in my head, and I was starting to spiral.

I didn’t move at first. I just listened. My training taking over.

Another subtle sound. A breath, maybe. I don’t know. Fabric brushing against fabric.

Someone was definitely out there.

I quietly went to my closet and grabbed the pistol I had in my bag, my eyes glued to the door the whole time. It was hard navigating new surroundings without hitting anything, but I managed.

Whatever calm I had from earlier went out the window because I could feel my pulse starting to climb again. The same stupid surge my body insisted on doing, no matter how many years I had spent training it into obedience.

I had the gun trained on the door as I moved closer without making a sound. When I got to the door, I pressed my ear near the seam.

Silence.

Then, a tiny squeak of rubber against the floor.

My mouth went dry.

With the gun focused on the door, I did the next logical thing I could think of.

I opened the door. Just a crack. Just enough to see.

The hallway was dim. The red EXIT sign gave a dull glow to the walls.

I scanned the hallway as much as I could, and I could barely make it out, but I think I saw a man standing on the opposite wall of my door, as if he belonged to the darkness. I squinted my eyes to see who it was.

Reid Calder.

Of course it is.

He was leaning slightly back, one shoulder near the wall across my door, as if he’d been there longer than he wanted to admit. His long hair is loose tonight, not in a hat or a ponytail, falling around his face in a way that should’ve made him look less severe.

It didn’t.

His eyes were already on my door, then found mine in the little crack I made. Green. Clear. Unforgiving.

My skin tightened. I wasn’t expecting to see him.

“Commander Calder,” I said quietly, keeping my voice even. Casual. As if I don’t have a gun pointed at the door. I immediately realized that and lowered my arm.

His gaze swept me once. Feral. Questioning. Like he was confirming I was still all there.

My pulse skittered again, stupid and angry.

“Umm… What are you doing?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away. He pushed off the wall and started to come towards me. Slowly. Carefully.

Then, he reached my door. He just stood there looking at me like he was searching for something. After a while, he finally spoke.

“You’re up.”

It wasn’t a question.

I stared at him; my heart was starting to beat so loudly that I was absolutely sure he could hear it.

“That’s an incredible observation, commander,” I said flatly. “I think I read that in the welcome packet Jeremy sent me today.”

I smirked slightly, but his face remained stoic. Dare I say, concerned?

“You okay?” he asked, but the words came out like they had been sanded down. As if he had wanted to say something else, but eventually opted for that.

I tilted my head slightly, and I heard his breath hitch.

“What the fuck was that?” I thought.

I held his gaze. “I’m fine,” I whispered. Fuck! He heard me. Out of all the people.

His eyes didn’t leave mine.

“Do you make it a habit to check on the recruit in the middle of the night?” I said. Anything to break the tension.

He took a step closer and leaned down, close enough that if he leaned in any closer, our faces would be smushed together.

“If you must know, I was heading to bed, and I heard you screaming.” He whispered.

Fuck! He did hear. Fuck!

“I did appreciate you lowering your weapon,” he continued. “It was starting to make me uncomfortable.”

His breath smelled minty. Like he just brushed his teeth.

I tried to say something, but I was paralyzed.

He leaned in closer to my left ear, his voice lowering another notch. His breath felt so hot on the nape of my neck that I couldn’t help but close my eyes.

“Go back to bed, Harper.” He whispered.

Then he stood back up and walked away. Opening the room two doors down from mine, pausing just long enough to glance at me before entering and closing his door.

I immediately went back into my room, panting, not from fright anymore, not from the nightmare, but from what just happened.

What the actual fuck? Why did that get me so hot and bothered?

I leaned my forehead against the cold door, breathing through the aftershock of him being there, the way he approached me, the way he kept his eyes on me, the feel of his hot breath on my neck, and the vibration of his voice.

My thumb slid across my palm again.

Once.

Twice.

I didn’t stop it.

Reid Calder was not only going to be a problem, but he’s going to be the kind of problem that would ruin my sleep permanently.

And the worst part?

Some twisted part of me would let him.