Chapter Three: The Little Spoon of Didsbury
Ben did not sleep. He powered down.
His sleep cycle was a disciplined, biological necessity, executed with the same silent efficiency as a library archive closing for the night. He lay on his back, arms at his sides, breathing in a slow, rhythmic shallow tide. He did not toss. He did not turn. He did not dream, because dreams were the brain’s way of processing unresolved clutter, and Ben did not have clutter. His mind was a series of clean,