Alkaline

Chapter 2

"Lola! Lola, wake up!"

I opened my eyes to Leah's urgent murmurs, her hands on my shoulders, shaking me gently. I blinked at her, trying to focus as she sighed in relief, realizing I was awake. My eyes stung, and I raised my knuckles to them, wiping away the tears pooled there.

"Was I..." My voice broke, hoarse. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Was I screaming again?"

Lean shook her head. "More like whimpering."

"I'm sorry. Did I wake you?" My cheeks burned with embarrassment, warmth spreading from my chest to my neck.

"It's no problem," she said softly, smiling, her own eyes puffy from the interrupted sleep. "Are you okay? You were crying so much."

I nodded, frowning as I tried to remember what I'd been dreaming about, but it was all a blur, like trying to hold on to smoke.

It was always like this—ever since I was a kid, I'd wake up in the middle of the night, sweating, crying, my muscles aching from tension. Sometimes, I'd bite my tongue, waking up to the metallic taste of blood in my mouth.

Of course, my mom and sister had taken me to countless doctors, and after an exhausting round of tests, scans, and even hypnosis, I was diagnosed with night terrors.

The expectation was that I'd outgrow them eventually—night terrors were far more common in children. But I've been carrying this burden since I was four years old. It wasn't every night, at least; I could go weeks, even months without an incident. But when I was stressed, it triggered them.

"What time is it?" I mumbled, turning to look at my phone on the side table. It was still dark outside, but with the Polar Night beginning, that didn't mean much.

"A quarter to five," Leah answered, getting up. "We still have a couple more hours of sleep."

I nodded, but I felt too alert to try. Not to mention, I was drenched in sweat. Usually, after these episodes, I'd wake up with a sense of unease, a lingering, bitter feeling that stayed with me all day. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep again, so after Leah returned to her room, I got out of bed and took a quick shower in our shared bathroom.

My workday didn't start until 8:30 a.m., and normally, I'd sleep in until seven, rushing to get ready and grab breakfast at the last possible moment. But today, I found myself slipping into my lab clothes, throwing on my heavy snow jacket, and leaving the cabin by 5:30.

It was pitch black outside. The cold wind cut through the air like knives, biting into my skin as I crossed the short path between my cabin and the food court. The darkness was suffocating, forcing me to wear a little headlamp strapped around my forehead to see where I was going. It wasn't currently snowing, though the ground was covered in fluffy ice, a sign that it must've snowed earlier.

In my three months of living in Sveagruva, I'd never arrived at the food court this early. It was eerily quiet, with only a few people scattered around, eating their breakfast in silence. It was exactly what I needed—some quiet time to ground myself.

After grabbing the largest cup of coffee I could find and a bowl of cereal, I settled into a corner table. I slipped off my coat to move more freely, plugged in my headphones, and put on my favorite album before opening the Kindle app. I figured some reading might help shake off the lingering unease.

I was just finishing the last spoonful of cereal when I caught a flash of bright pink in my peripheral vision—something I recognized instantly. My beanie.

A small smile formed on my lips as I turned, only for it to die the moment I realized what I was looking at. It really was my beanie, perched casually on the safety manager's head, standing out against his otherwise dark clothes. I blinked, my mind struggling to process it.