Mira Lawson woke up to the sound of her phone vibrating itself into a small, angry death.
It wasn't a gentle buzz.
It was a full-body seizure.
She stared at it from her bed, eyes half-open, hair in her face, wondering if this was how famous people eventually lost all will to live.
Her screen lit up again.
And again.
And again.
She grabbed it and squinted.
Sixty-three notifications.
She dropped it back onto the mattress like it had personally insulted her.
"No," she muttered into her pillow. "I refuse to participate in this timeline."
The door banged open without warning.
Leo stumbled in, wild-eyed, hair pointing in several morally questionable directions, wearing yesterday's clothes and an expression that suggested he had not slept and had possibly declared war on the concept of rest.
"Mira."
She groaned. "If you say my name like that one more time, I'm filing a restraining order."
"You're trending in three countries," Leo said.
