Monday morning arrived wrapped in nerves, the kind that didn't quite let go even after I'd washed my face and double-checked my bag for the tenth time. Test week. Normally, that would've been the only thing on my mind—numbers, formulas, words I'd memorized, all floating at the front of my brain. But not today.
Today felt heavier.
Val was the reason I wasn't drowning in panic. She'd sat up with me all through last night, refusing to let me quit until I'd filled page after page, worked through problem after problem. I'd groaned, I'd complained, I'd tried to argue—but she'd leaned forward with that stubborn glint in her eyes and told me flatly: No sleep until you're ready.
And damn it, she was right. Because by the time she let me collapse against her shoulder, my head foggy from exhaustion, I wasn't just prepared. I was over-prepared.
But the air outside the lecture hall was thick with something else entirely.
