Camila's fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on the mahogany surface of her antique desk. Her eyes, reflecting a mix of hope and anxiety, flickered every few seconds to the silvery laptop that sat before her, its screen a blank canvas waiting to be splashed with news of her fate.

　　"Come on," she muttered under her breath, her tone a blend of command and entreaty.

　　Her long, dark hair shifted like silk shadows as she leaned closer to the screen, willing an email ...