(Connie's POV)
I'm awake when Rebecca calls, which she'd know if she ever actually looked at my calendar instead of just assuming I run on normal-person hours like the rest of the civilized world.
Trial hours. That's the phrase I use for it, shorthand for the specific brand of insomnia that comes with a deposition three days out and six hundred pages of transcript I still need to have fully memorized by Thursday morning. I've been up since one, laptop balanced on my knees, a highlighter behind one ear and another one actually in use, running the same paragraph of testimony back and forth looking for the one contradiction I know is buried in there somewhere.
So when my phone lights up at two with Rebecca's name on it, I don't even do the customary sleepy fumble. I just answer, second rin
