Willow worked until her shoulders ached, the kind of ache that came from holding herself too still for too long.
By midafternoon, the dining table had disappeared beneath papers, notebooks, and her laptop, the surface transformed into something closer to a command center than a place for meals. She moved between screens and handwritten notes with focused urgency, building the proposal from the inside out and refusing shortcuts even when fatigue pressed at the edges of her concentration. This was not a pitch designed to impress. It was a structure meant to survive.
