ELENA'S POV The Journalism Department’s basement was a graveyard of ink-stained desks. At eight in the morning, the air was filled with the smell of old paper and the burnt, bitter scent of Dr. Reyes’s third espresso. I stood in front of her desk, my shoulders stiff and my heart beating against my ribs, while she looked over my latest draft like it was something she’d found on the bottom of her shoe.“This,” Reyes said, her voice dropping into a tone that made my blood turn to ice, “is fluff, Elena. It’s the kind of weak, safe writing I’d expect from someone who’s afraid of their own shadow.”She didn't look up. She just flicked the corner of my pages with a sharp nail. “I didn't ask for a play-by-play of their practice schedule,” she continued, finally raising her gaze. Her eyes were like two cold pieces of flint. “I asked for the heart of the Ravens. I asked for the grit. I see the statistics, but I don’t feel the pulse.”I shifted my weight, the old floorboards groaning under my
Last Updated : 2026-04-27 Read more