The vibrations began as a soft, persistent hum against the marble nightstand, like the distant buzzing of a trapped insect. Elara didn't open her eyes at first. The gray light filtering through the sheer curtains of the temporary apartment told her it was early—too early for the world to demand anything of her. But the phone kept trembling, a mechanical anxiety that eventually pulled her from the shallow waters of sleep.
She reached for it without sitting up. The screen glowed with a stack of notifications—thirty-seven, then forty-two, counting upward even as she watched. Not calls. Not from him. Just the digital world murmuring, then shouting, then screaming her name.
She scrolled.
