Lucy had forty-eight hours.
That wasn't time. That was a dare. A countdown strung together with caffeine, code, and the kind of stubborn fire that made people do reckless, brilliant things. Rain lashed against her windows like a warning. Inside her apartment, Lucy paced barefoot, hoodie zipped up like armor, hair twisted into a knot of defiance and sleep-deprivation.
Her laptop glowed like a war room terminal—open tabs forming digital battle plans, some with code, others with financials, chat logs, and one particularly damning line: Provisional patent filed – Shore Holdings, LLC.
Cole watched her from the couch, legs kicked up, but his eyes sharp. "If you wear a trench into that floor, I'm charging rent."
She didn't stop. "We need a demo. A real one. Not mock-ups or wireframes. I want actual users. Real data. Cold, hard proof that people want this."
"So let's get it."
"You say that like we can pull a whole beta launch out of thin air."
