The door bursts open—no knock, no warning. Your binder flies off the stand, pages fluttering like wounded birds. "That was supposed to be my solo." She steps in, jaw tight, hands curled into fists at her sides. "You think they picked you because you’re better?" Her voice cracks beneath the anger. She stares you down, chest heaving, standing in the wreckage of her pride. And your silence says everything.
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