The office is blurry. I feel nauseated. The bustling sounds of the people in the busy space around me sound foggy and far away. I need rest, but I know that even if I tried to fall asleep, I couldn't.

"Cassie?" An echoey voice drifts by my ears.

No, it's not real. I read something, somewhere, about sleep deprivation and audicto— auditory hallucinations...

"Agent Cassanova?"

Staring across the room with my head on my desk, thoughts circling and voices passing around me... some of them real, some of them not, and telling them apart is a losing battle.

"Rachel!" My partner shouts my name, jerking me back into the present, the now, the real.

"Wha— What?" I ask, blinking rapidly.

"The local captain wants us in the briefing room in five. To update him on the Codebreaker case."

"Right... I, uh, I'll just grab the file..." Where is it? My office desk is a mess, a clutter of flash drives, notes, empty coffee cups and the odd holo-projector. Agent Grey holds up the file I was looking for.

"Already got it." He pauses for a second. "Cassie... Are you OK?"

"Yeah. Of course. Fine."

"You haven't slept in days."

"Just working. It's an interesting case, that's all."

Grey sighs and shakes his head, but proceeds to the briefing room.

"Agent Grey. Cassanova." The local captain nods as we enter the room.

"Captain, good morning," I say.

"Afternoon." Grey corrects me, and I check my watch. 16:14. Already?

Dismissing the mild concern — where did the day go? — I pull my holo-projector from my pocket to show the captain my current plan and recent case notes. "There have been a few setbacks, but we're moving forward with the Evan Barcy plan. I'll attempt to make contact with Codebreaker via the dark web forum by the end of this week."

"The main problem," Grey says, continuing my explanation, "is what to do once we — hopefully — can set up a meeting with her. The original plan was to have Evan transfer payment to her with a card that would upload a virus to her pCard, flagging the account. Of course, this won't be helpful now — we know she's been using a fake pCard, we already found it, and there doesn't seem to be any connection between it and any real person. Oh, and the photo on the profile self-deleted, so we weren't able to use facial recognition."

"So, I've been trying to figure out another way to get information about her real identity from this meeting. I was thinking maybe Evan could plant a tracker. We tried to track her pCard, but she must've concealed the location somehow. One of those signal-blocking wallets, maybe, I don't know." I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant, but honestly, this is yet another frustrating example of her being a step ahead.

"Actually," Grey chimes in, "the location suddenly came on last night. I sent a few agents to follow it once I got word this morning, but all they caught up to was a truck with an empty pCard taped to the undercarriage. She must've ditched it. No DNA, either."

"What? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to disturb you, you were really focussed and I figured I'd update you when the team had news. Sorry."

"It's fine, just... Wait, why would she ditch the pCard? Dammit, she must somehow know we found the account! Must've been part of the photo deletion program, to send her a notification, or something."

The captain clears his throat, reminding me of his presence. Right. Forgot about him.

"Agents, good work so far." After the words leave his mouth, his face takes on a slightly nervous expression, and he continues. "As for the next steps for planning this meeting, I'm sure the, uh, next agents will be able to handle it thanks to all you've done."

Hold on... What?

"Sorry, next agents?"

The captain furrows his brows, the worried look intensifying.

"Yes, umm, Agent Cassanova..." He takes a deep breath. "I'm afraid you're being removed from this case."

"What? Why?" I ask, my voice raising a little. He's removing me? In the middle of a case? Why? Didn't he just say I was doing a good job? Grey looks surprised, too, but says nothing.

The captain sighs. "Look... You've been working nonstop everyday, you haven't been sleeping, you're clearly tired... Agent, this is becoming... concerning."

"What are you talking about? I'm being replaced because I worked too hard?"

"No, Agent, you're being removed because you aren't, well, healthy. I've seen you here, staring at that computer screen, barely raising your head to the outside world, drinking copious amounts of caffeine and hardly eating. Never sleeping. Just five minutes ago, you didn't even know what time of day it was! You've been here, at the office, for the last three days, by the way. I'm not sure if you're even aware of that... Look, your work isn't the problem. You're an excellent detective, of course, but frankly, I don't think you're OK, mentally. And I'm not the only one who's noticed it, either."

Becca. She must've talked to the captain. What did she say about me? And seriously, why did she have to get involved? Ugh!

"Look, this is all a misunderstanding," I try to explain. "Yes, admittedly, I have a tendency to get a little, umm what's the word..." Too invested? Excessive? I rub the side of my head, noticing it start to ache. I should get more coffee when this is done.

"Fixated?" Grey suggests.

"Yeah, yeah, that, or, umm, hyper-focused... I don't know. Point is, am I working a little later, sure, but I'm fine. It's just how I am. How my brain works. I'm fine. Better I just finish this case, rather than leave it to someone who doesn't know it as well, right?"

I notice my partner is also looking at me in concern. What's with all these looks today? It's like these people think I'm going to explode or something if not handled with caution.

"I'm sorry, Agent Cassanova, but that's not possible," the captain tells me.

"What do you mean, 'not possible'? Just, let me finish the case. Simple as that."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

What?

"Yeah, you can."

"Agent—"

"What do you mean, of course you can."

"Agent Cassanova—"

"Captain, what's so hard about it, of course you can let me finish the case, just don't kick me off. Just let me finish. If you can't let me stay, who can? Who do I need to talk to about this?"

"OK, OK, fine, yes, I can, that's not what I meant. What I meant is, I won't, Agent. Given what I know about your current mental state—"

"Nothing is wrong with my mental state!"

I look over at Grey, who is unusually silent, for help.

"Cassie..." he starts.

"No, not you too! Look, I'm fine, I promise! I just want to get back to work."

"Well, you won't be doing that, Agent." The captain's voice is firm. "You are no longer assigned to this case. If you could please collect any more notes from your desk and bring them here so that the next agents..."

No. He can't just kick me off— no way. I reach for the holo-projector I had dropped on his desk and scroll through my notes, showing him.

"Look, I'm really close, OK? I've already drafted some messages for how I could approach the contact process, and—"

"The answer is no, Agent! Please leave my office and go get your case notes from—"

I shake my head. No, no... This can't be happening.

"No! You can't just— I can find her!" I wave my hands through the holo, over the desk, scrolling through pages of notes and plans, trying to find what I'm looking for.

"Cassanova, no one is doubting your competence. But you're too involved, emotionally."

"Wha— Emotionally? What the hell does that even— Here! Look!" I snatch a paper holo on the screen and show it to the captain. A screenshot of the security footage at Café Suki, with Evan. "Just talk to Captain Rhonsen, he'll explain. She was last seen here, at this café—"

"Cassanova, this is not up for discussion."

"We already know the identity of her client, so—"

"This is becoming an obsession, Agent!"

"Evan Barcy, the client— he's already agreed to help! If we can just set up the meeting— I know what to do! Just talk to my captain—"

"Agent Cassanova! I've already talked to Captain Rhonsen, who do you think made this decision? Clearly you are in no mental condition to be continuing with this case, or any case for that matter. You are to go home immediately, and you are not to return for two weeks, or until you've passed a psych evaluation, whichever comes last!"

Shaking my head, I step back from the captain's desk.

"No, no, I'm getting closer! You don't understand, Captain, I have this!" No, he can't just assign someone else. This is my case! I retreat farther from the table, and notice that the captain has pressed the security button under the desk. What? Why? Just— Just stop! Why can't I stop him? "No, this is my case! It's mine! She's mine!"

Two security officers enter the room and grab my arms, pulling me back toward the door. I try to push past them. I know I have this! If I could just convince him—

"No, wait! Wait! Let me go— Stop!"

Everything starts to blur, and I realize the lack of sleep may finally be catching up to me. Is it just me, or is everything getting darker?

"Wait, I..."

The room fades out, spinning and blurred, and the ground crashes against me.

* * *

Lights. Bright, blinding lights. I blink several times, trying to focus. My eyelids feel heavy. I manage to keep them open and the room slowly comes into view.

"She's awake." Someone beside me says. I hear footsteps coming toward me, mixed in with the sounds of voices in the hall and a beeping monitor behind me.

"Miss Cassanova, how are you feeling?"

I sit up and look around, finding myself in a hospital room.

"Uhm... Why am I here?" My voice is raspy and my throat feels dry. Luckily, there's a glass of water already on the bedside table.

"You're dehydrated and severely sleep-deprived. I was told you collapsed at work."

Grey appears in the doorway and walks over.

"Cassie, are you OK?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine..." I turn to the nurse. "Can I go home?"

"We're hydrating you through an IV, but you should be fine to leave in about an hour. You'll need someone to drive you home, though..." The nurse looks toward Grey.

"Oh, um, yeah sure, I can drive her."

"OK, well, I'll leave you to rest now. And make sure to get more sleep when you get home. I'm sure your employer will give you a few days off." And with that, the nurse leaves.

"Becca's on her way," Grey tells me. "She's got on the next available flight to Tokyo to see you. She's really worried, Cassie..." He looks at me, pausing for a few seconds, his eyes full of concern. "Anyway, umm... the captain booked you both a flight back home tomorrow. I'll be staying here another week, to fill the new agents in on the case, but I'll be back by the time you're cleared to go to work again."

I scoff. "Why even go back after my two weeks' house arrest if I can't even get my case back?"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Cass. I'm sure they'll give you a good case. I'll make sure they don't just stick us on some boring fraud investigation."

"I don't care about the new assignment, don't you get it? It doesn't matter what I work on next, whether it's fraud, organised crime, hell, I don't care if aliens are invading Earth! It's not Codebreaker. She's the only case I care about."

"Why?" He asks immediately, not in an argumentative way, but with genuine curiosity. "Why is finding her so important to you?"

Only now, lying in a hospital bed an ocean away from my girlfriend who won't even talk to me, trying to answer a simple question, do I realize I don't know. I don't have a good answer. Some parts of one, maybe — it's an interesting case, I've already done so much work on it, I have that feeling in the back of my head, bothering me, like it's a puzzle that remains unsolved... But Grey already knows these reasons. They aren't good enough to justify my— my obsession, but I don't know what else to say.

So, after drinking the rest of my cup of water in an attempt to wash away the discomfort from my dry throat — dehydration really sucks — I answer in the only honest way I can.

"I don't know."

* * *

The hovercar passes through Akihabara, and I stare out the window, unable to stop my hands from shaking. A combination of apprehension and the excessive caffeine still in my system, no doubt.

"You know, what you could use is some relaxing chamomile tea," Grey points out, noticing my jitters.

"Oh hey, I think we just passed a café. Tea's not a bad idea, actually, do you want to stop?"

"Sure," he agrees, and lands the hover.

We walk down the busy street, and I take in my surroundings, my eyes wandering over everything we pass. Mag-lev station, small hotel, New Seasons Apparel outlet store, TechStop... It's funny, now that I think about it. Depending on what I'm focussed on, I'm doing one of two things: either I'm looking around at everything, noticing every detail, or I'm so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I pretty much see nothing and might even walk straight into someone—

"Whoa— Ah!"

Apparently, sometimes I'm both.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I say to the girl I accidentally knocked over. "Are you OK? I wasn't looking where I was going, I'm sorry, here, let me help you with that."

Both Grey and I crouch down to help pick up the girl's things, which, thanks to me, spilled out of her dropped bag.

She smiles politely as I pass her the flash drives and several temporary payment cards that were on the ground. "Thanks, it's no problem, really. You must be in a hurry."

Unusual, to only use temp cards... brings back bad memories of—

No. Not thinking about that. It was 10 years ago, Rachel. This girl isn't running away, she probably just had spare credits on some loose cards lying around and figured she'd use them next time she went shopping.

Noticing I didn't respond, Grey fills the silence.

"Oh, she has nowhere to be. Hurrying is just her natural form of walking," he jokes, and the girl laughs, pushing her long black hair off her face as she stands back up. "Well, anyway, nice to meet you, ah..."

"Oh, um— Hayley."

"Hayley." Grey nods, smiling with a hint of what looks like humour, at my expense, of course. "Sorry about the head-on collision. Somebody better suspend her walking license."

I shake my head, but ignore being made the butt of the joke because right now, I just want to go get tea. The young, raven-haired girl waves and goes on her way, and Grey and I keep walking to the café.

* * *

"Jacket, jacket... Where is my jacket?"

"Did you check on the back of the chairs? That's where you usually leave it," Becca reminds me. She arrived in Tokyo at 23:30, and even though it's late, she's been helping me pack my things, because we're flying back to Copenhagen tomorrow morning.

"Yeah, of course I did."

She doesn't respond, falling back to the pattern of silence she's taken up since we got to the apartment.

Did I do something wrong again? Or is this still about what I did wrong before? Wait, what did I do before, I don't remember now...

Right, the 'working too much and not calling her before going to Tokyo' thing.

OK, in retrospect, maybe I actually was in the wrong there.

"Yeah, you really were."

What?! When did my girlfriend get mind-reading powers??

"I didn't, you said all that aloud and didn't realize it. The doctors said it's an effect of the sleep deprivation. So's paranoia, by the way, in case you're later wondering why the first explanation you came up with is that I can read minds. Oh, also—" my black pleather jacket flies across the room, and I struggle to catch it as it hits me. "—it was on the back of the chair in your room."

I messily fold it and tuck it into my carry-on bag. And, back to silence. Well, for a few seconds, anyway, before she adds,

"Why'd you even bring that? It's June, it's like 25 degrees."

"Oh— uh, I don't know, just in case. You know they over-air-condition places sometimes."

Her brow creases as she looks at me, curiously.

"What?" I ask.

"I— It just feels like sometimes, you avoid the simplest of questions."

"What do you mean, I'm not avoiding anything."

She stops answering again, and I turn back to my suitcase. After an uncomfortable pause — this is really not like her — I decide to fill the quiet.

"It's kind of my lucky jacket. Good friend gave it to me when I was 15. You know I grew up in Tierra del Fuego, it gets pretty cold there. Especially—" I cut myself off. Not going down that road.

Becca looks up, but for some reason, decides not to push it, and I'm grateful.

Instead, she asks about my friend. "It's just, you never really talk about your childhood friends, I figured you couldn't have been very close."

Mierda. How did we still end up talking about something that I don't— I should've known better than to bring up my past. I don't want to cause a fight by acting secretive, but this conversation still needs to end, so I answer with a simple,

"We just... fell out of touch." Why do I feel like I might cry?

With an indecipherable expression, my girlfriend looks up at me for a second, then shakes her head, turning away.

"I just wish I knew you better..."

"You do know me."

"Some things, sure, but, there's so much that just seems like... a mystery. Missing pieces, topics you avoid, little things you do that I just wish I understood. I mean, of all people, shouldn't I be the one you talk to?"

"What do you mean, 'of all people'? Who else do you think I talk to?"

For a moment, she just stares ahead, as if gathering the courage to say something. With a sigh, she starts to answer.

"When I touched your arm before, when your parents were over? You pulled away from me. It's not the first time you've done that, either. But I noticed, looking back, that I've never seen your partner touch your arm, or wrist, not even to, I don't know, lead you somewhere. It's like he knows you don't like it."

"Could be a coincidence. How often is there really a reason to grab someone's arm?"

"'Could be'? I mean, you would know, wouldn't you?"

"Uh— Why do I feel like you're interrogating me about not wanting my arm touched?"

"I'm not. I'm just asking you if I'm right about what I'm currently wondering — if your work colleague knows more about you than I do. Does he know about your parents?"

"Becca... It's not like that."

"Then, what is it like? Just talk to me, Rachel, just tell me, you never just answer me directly."

"Look, this isn't common knowledge, OK? Hardly anyone knows about the situation with my family. Grey's not just some 'work colleague', he's my best friend, and I've known him for years, longer even than I've known you. He's the person I talk to. Yes, I've told him about my parents, but it's not like I've been trying to hide it from you."

"You haven't? Then, why do you always avoid the topic?"

"Because, well..." I push my hair off my face, looking up to meet her eyes. "I love you, Becca, and I know you get worried easily. I didn't want you to worry about me."

After a heavy pause, she nods, silently. "I understand. But, Rachel... Of course I'd worry, but that's not a bad thing. I'd rather worry about you, because I care, because I love you, too, than not know the truth."

Letting out a resolved sigh, I realize what I have to do.

"OK... Then, ask me."

"What?"

"You want to know about my family, my life, all that dark stuff, right? What do you want to know?"

She stares at me, the concern evident in her eyes. "You'll really answer my questions?"

I nod.

"OK. Umm..." Her gaze darts around the room, as if she's trying to decide what to ask. "Your parents."

"What about them?"

"What happened between you?"

I take a deep breath before answering. "Have you heard of ECA?"

She shakes her head.

"It's a psychological term, it stands for egocentric abuse. Basically, my mother was, well, how do I put this... She was a self-centred bitch who used everyone around her to—" I'm not really sure how to explain it... "And my dad, he was just violent and angry and always seemed to be mad at me."

"Did he hurt you?" Becca stares at me, looking horrified. When I didn't answer right away, she muttered, "Jesus..."

"It was a long time ago. Any more questions?"

"Are you OK?"

"Like I said, long time ago."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"I'm fine. It's not like I have PTSD or anything."

We sit in silence for a few seconds before she asks, "Do you mind telling me more about your mother? I just... I don't really understand."

"Well, umm..." I take a breath. "She would embarrass people, degrade them... try to make them look bad so that she could feel good about herself in comparison. As her daughter, I was her main source to draw on — 'supply' is the official term. She was constantly tormenting me, trying to make me feel stupid and inferior and... powerless." I shake my head, wishing I could get rid of all those feelings, let go of it all. "I just always felt so, so powerless. I didn't matter, I had no control, I only existed to be her daughter. Her supply." When Becca didn't say anything, I continued. "And my dad, he always did one of two things — either he did exactly what she told him, acted like some brainless follower, or he started an argument, got mad, and always ended up somehow blaming it on me. They both did. It's a characteristic of EC-abusers, blaming their mistakes on others, and I guess my father picked it up from his stupid EC-wife. They both had the same mindset — that I was their child, so they essentially owned me, and I was theirs to boss around. What I said didn't matter. I was powerless. They just went about it in different ways. My father was overly authoritarian, forcing his every command on me, and my mother was manipulative. It's part of the profile, EC-parents often try to damage their kids emotionally, and make them think they depend on them."

"Where did you learn about all this ECA stuff? You just seem to know a lot about it," Becca asks.

"Psychiatrist told me."

"You talked to a psychiatrist?"

"Once. In university. Grey convinced me to go."

"Was it... helpful?"

"You could say that. I learned a lot about what had been going on at home, it sort of... helped me understand better. Understand my past, and how it made me the way I am."

"And what's 'the way you are'?"

I shrug. "Damaged."

My word choice hangs in the air while Becca processes what I've said.

"I don't think you're damaged," she finally says, quietly.

"One of the many reasons I love you." I manage a half smile.

My phone chimes, and I glance at the message. It's from Agent Grey.

"Oh, apparently I left my sunglasses on my desk at the office, I'd better go back to get them before they disable my key-card."

"OK. I can finish packing, if it helps," Becca offers.

"Thanks, babe."

I grab my card from the table and start to head out.

"Wait— Rachel, just know you can always talk to me, OK? You don't have to protect me. I want to be the person you confide in."

With genuine warmth, I tell her, "I will. You're right, I shouldn't hide things from you."

Just as I reach the door, I summon the courage to say one final thing.

"To answer your question before... Yes, he hurt me. But that was never the worst part. Pain I could deal with, it was living with the two of them that was..." I trail off, unable to think of an adjective.

Becca puts down the shirt she's folding, takes a few steps toward me and pulls me into a hug.