Emi Aoyama woke up feeling like absolute garbage.
Her pillow was damp. Her eyes felt puffy. Her stomach twisted with a knot that no amount of cute affirmations from her "Daily Positivity" app could unravel.
"Today you are enough," chirped her phone screen.
Emi swiped the notification away.
She hadn't slept well. Her dreams kept replaying the same scenes on loop: Satori's face when he looked at Natalia, that little half-smile nobody else got to see. Skylar coming out of his room yesterday morning, her violet hair tousled, that smug little curl to her lips. The way he'd touched Monica's shoulder after the dungeon, gentle, reassuring.
"Stop it," Emi muttered, pressing her palms against her eyes. "Stop being jealous. You're better than this. He said to wait. He said he'd be ready. I just have to trust him."
She grabbed her phone, checking for messages.
Nothing.
"It's fine. He's busy. He has a lot on his plate. It's fine."
It wasn't fine.
