There is a specific kind of exhaustion that comes not from the work you do, but from the work you are expected to do, simply because someone else refuses to do theirs. It’s a quiet, corrosive feeling. Like rust eating away at a beam.
My name is Elara. And this... this is my sanctuary. My sedan. For three years, my life has been measured in a simple metric: Twenty minutes. That is the time it ta...
