Outside, the city roared on—the endless, frantic search for more. But Elena smiled into her pillow, listening to the rain begin to tap against her window.

Marcus looked up from his book. “That’s the first time I’ve read a full chapter without checking my email in… I don’t know how long.”

Evenings were sacred: a bath with Epsom salts, a chapter of a literary novel (no thrillers before bed), and the soft glow of a salt lamp. Her phone lived on a charging dock in the kitchen from 8 PM onward. No exceptions.

At exactly 8:30 PM, Elena gently tapped a tiny brass bell. The hour was up.

Three friends arrived at 7:30 sharp. Chloe, hungover and skeptical. Marcus, a soft-spoken librarian who brought homemade pickles. And Priya, a single mother of two who looked like she might fall asleep standing up.

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