*Roanne’s POV*

The keys of my laptop clacked in a frenzied rhythm, echoing the pounding of my heart. My mind was wrapped around sentences and citations, my soul poured into the academic prose that would determine my next grades. The paper was due tomorrow, and it had to be perfect—just like everything else I strived for in this Ivy League pressure cooker.

"Roanne," I murmured to myself, "just a few more paragraphs."

Suddenly, my phone vibrated against ...