SSS-Class Profession: The Path to Mastery

Standing in the doorway of the master bedroom, I watched Camille sleep with the kind of peaceful expression that only came from complete exhaustion. Her breathing was deep and regular, and she’d somehow managed to claim the entire king-size bed, sprawling across it like she was trying to hug the mattress itself.

"Camille," I called softly, not wanting to startle her but knowing she needed to wake up eventually. The sun was already well past noon, and she’d been unconscious for nearly twelve hours.

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

I tried again, a little louder. "Camille, it’s past noon."

Still nothing. Her breathing didn’t even change rhythm.

I’d always known she was a night owl—her fashion design work often kept her up until the early morning hours, working on sketches or adjusting patterns when inspiration struck. Even her job title exhausts her out. But I’d never seen her this deeply unconscious before. The combination of champagne, excitement, and emotional exhaustion from the previous night had apparently knocked her completely offline.

"Camille," I said more firmly, walking over to the bed and gently shaking her shoulder. "Time to rejoin the land of the living."

She made a sound that might have been a groan or might have been an attempt at human language, but didn’t open her eyes. Her hand swatted vaguely in my direction like she was trying to shoo away an annoying fly.

I tried a different approach, sitting on the edge of the bed and speaking directly into her ear. "Hey, sleeping beauty. The house is on fire and we need to evacuate immediately."

That got me another groan, but still no eye opening. Camille had apparently achieved a level of unconsciousness that bordered on the supernatural.

"Okay," I said, standing up and crossing my arms. "I didn’t want to resort to this, but you’re leaving me no choice."

I walked toward the door, then turned back and spoke in my most casual tone. "I guess I’ll just have to put all these leftover pastries and coffee in your office. You know, the chocolate croissants from that bakery you love? And maybe I’ll reorganize your fabric samples while I’m in there. Sort them by color instead of texture like you prefer."