Val's P.O.V

The limp, sugary cereal in the bowl next to my laptop had long since surrendered, the colorful O’s dissolving into a beige, soupy mush. I’d taken three bites an hour ago, simply for the mechanical act of fueling a body that felt disconnected from my whirring, overheating brain. The spoon lay abandoned, a tiny raft in a sea of regrettable life choices.

I was deep in the trenches of Section 22: Force Majeure.

My eyes felt like they’d been sandpapered. Every time I ...