LAYLA’S POV:
The glow of my laptop screen casts a soft, bluish hue across my hands and arms as I sit at Elijah’s worn-out desk, typing away. The faint clacking of keys echoes in the room, punctuated by the occasional click of the mouse. I’m deep in concentration, pouring over job listings and polishing my resume for what feels like the hundredth time.
My phone vibrates against the desk, breaking the silence. With a furrowed brow, I glance at the screen. The number is unfamiliar, but I feel a spark of excitement. Perhaps it’s one of the TV stations I have applied to, calling to schedule an interview.
As I pick up the phone, there’s a sudden sense of unease. The clock in the corner of my laptop screen catches my eye, and I note the time – eight in the evening. Something about the late hou
