Sheridan couldn't sleep. It wasn't that Manhattan was wide awake, despite the questionable hour. It might have been the cup of coffee she'd had around eight that evening, but she'd compensated by swallowing a sleeping pill - and still nothing. She stared at the ceiling as she lay in bed, arms at her sides. It wasn't the coffee, either, she knew. She could feel them tingling along her skin, humming in her bones like a warning. Her stupid nerves again.
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