Val's P.O.V

The sunlight streaming through Brielle’s curtains felt different. It wasn’t the frantic, artificial glow of phone screens or the ominous shadows of the night before. It was clean, golden, and carried the gentle hum of a Sunday morning. The four of us were a tangled mess of limbs and blankets on Brielle’s oversized bed, the aftermath of our digital war and subsequent live stream victory.

A soft knock preceded the entrance of Brielle’s mother, a elegant woman whose serene ...