Eluna’s P.O.V.
The sun wasn’t even up yet when I left the apartment above my brother Koda’s restaurant, the small apartment I now called my home, camera bag slung over one shoulder, nerves doing a full-on tap dance routine in my stomach.
The Fairview Gazette wasn’t exactly The New York Times—more like the sleepy cousin that always wore mismatched socks and forgot where it parked its car—but it was a start. A real shot. The tiny office sat squished between the local thrift shop and a law firm that only had one lawyer who was also the town’s magician on weekends. (Fairview, folks. You either love it or move far, far away.)
I paused in front of the building, took a deep breath, and whispered to myself,
“You got this, Eluna. You are a professional. A professional with… minimal experience
