She moved from the windowsill to stand behind her desk. It was a huge monolith of concrete that reminded Thea uncomfortably of a sacrificial altar. With her long red hair and pale Celtic skin, Delores would have fitted the high priestess role perfectly.

‘What this is about, however, is you, Thea Mackenzie. You have shown some … interesting … results in your sleep data.’

‘I have?’

‘You were interesting from the start. It’s why we accepted you on the trial and why I fought to keep your place, even after we found out about your mother’s troublemaking past.’

‘She’s retired!’

‘No matter. She is a very small fish. You are the one who is important. You are … different to the others.’

‘Different?’

‘Yes. We haven’t even begun Phase Two and yet, here you are. We allow you an average of just under three hours of sleep per night. Three hours. Most people would eventually crash. You, however, haven’t. That is significant. Your skin and hair are healthier than before, you perform much better on the aptitude tests and you have become more sociable. You haven’t merely avoided crashing; you have thrived.’

Delores smoothed the concrete top of her desk. It was empty apart from a laptop and a sinuous twist of ornamental stone.

‘You have been disappointingly easy to fix.’

Thea almost felt ashamed, as if she’d been wasting everyone’s time.

‘If it was so easy, why did I feel so terrible all the time, y’know, before?’

‘Technically, you are not an insomniac at all. You are a night owl. You work to a different sleep pattern to most of the world. Given freedom, you would naturally fall asleep around’ – Delores glanced at her laptop – ‘seven in the morning and wake around two and a half to three hours later. The problem is not your sleep, it is that your sleep pattern does not fit into modern working life. Turning up on time for your nine-to-five becomes tricky.’

Delores paused and came around the side of the desk so she could sit on the edge and look at Thea, a small crease appearing between her eyebrows. ‘Just under three hours. Some people say they sleep only that amount, but in fact, get more without realizing it. However, you’re the real thing. You know, I’ve never actually met one of you.’

Suddenly Thea remembered the lecture. ‘The Sleepless Elite,’ she whispered.

People who could live happily on a tiny amount of sleep. The word “elite” suggested private clubs, cocktail parties and carpet so thick you could lose a shoe. Thea glanced at her feet. She’d be happy to lose the moccasins.

‘Well, that’s just a silly name. But, who knows?’ Delores crossed her legs. ‘Sleeping less is, as I said, fascinating, but what I want you to now consider is, well, not sleeping at all. Successfully. With the help of Morpheus. You could be our white-crowned sparrow.’