The clock ticked louder than it had any right to.

Celine sat on her couch, legs folded tight beneath her, staring at the envelope on the coffee table as though it were breathing. She had tried everything—made tea, reorganized her notebooks, even scrubbed down her counter with unnecessary precision. Still, the weight of the invitation pressed into the walls of her apartment.

The city outside pulsed faintly through her window, headlights and neon bleeding together in a restless blur. Yet ...