The screen glowed blue-white in the dark room.
3:47 AM.
Again.
Eryndor rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. The world swam for a second—too many hours, too much caffeine, too little sleep. His chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped a belt around his ribs and slowly pulled it tighter.
Just one more deadline.
The code stared back at him. Lines he had written, rewritten, debugged, rewritten again. The client wanted it yesterday. The boss wanted it tomorrow. He wanted… he didn't even know anymore.
He leaned back in the cheap office chair. It creaked under his weight. Twenty-three years old, and he already felt like he was running on fumes. No friends to call at 3 AM. No girlfriend to miss him. No family that still answered his messages.
Just him.
And the screen.
His heart stuttered—once, twice. A sharp pain lanced through his left arm, then his chest. He tried to breathe, but the air wouldn't come.
Not now.
Not when he was so close.
He reached for the mouse. His fingers felt numb. The cursor blinked.
Just… one… more…
The room tilted.
The screen blurred.
And then—
Nothing.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
He never even got to finish the line.