Six hours, 2.66 miles. Busier night — I can tell by the distance. When things are breaking, I walk more. It’s not nervous energy, it’s processing. Your brain works differently when your legs are moving. Some of my best fixes came to me between the back door and the far end of the parking lot.

This was deep into a streak of night shifts. You start to lose track of what day it is. Tuesday, Wednesday — doesn’t matter. The NOC looks the same at 3 AM regardless. The same monitors, the same hum, the same vending machine coffee that tastes like regret.

2.66 miles of thinking out loud with nobody around to hear it.

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// RAPTOR GIRL