ELORA'S POV
The minute I got back to Manhattan, I was welcomed with a cold breeze and a mountain of work.
As soon as I stepped into Queens Academy, I was met with files, missed reports, unread emails, and endless clients inquiries. And to top all that I had a lot of sketching to do. It felt like the building itself had been holding its breath, waiting for me to return and exhale all the chaos into my lap.
For hours I worked non-stop. Typing, replying, organizing—I barely even stopped to drink water. My head started pounding somewhere in between lecture outlines and approval forms, but I kept going. Work was easier than thinking. Easier than feeling things I wasn't supposed to feel.
By the time I looked up, the sun had already started setting. My limbs were heavy, my eyes dry.
