Val's P.OV

The tiny red light on Brielle’s phone glowed like a dragon’s eye, a beacon in the dim, post-adrenaline quiet of her bedroom. For a heart-stopping second, all four of us froze, a deer-in-headlights tableau of exhaustion and shell-shocked victory. The viewer count ticked up: 12… 27… 53…

Brielle, ever the performer, broke the spell first. She flashed a brilliant, if slightly manic, smile. “Hey, what’s up fans,” she said again, her voice smoothing into a practiced, ...