Maya was three cups of coffee into a deadline, her neck a knot of tension. Her external monitor showed a sprawling timeline of video edits, but her main laptop screen—the one with the critical color grading tools—had just betrayed her.
The screen snapped back to vertical like a rubber band.
“No, no, no,” she muttered, logging in. The whole desktop was sideways. Her mouse went up to go left. Panic, cold and sharp, pricked her ribs.