The morning sun streamed through the window, hitting Amelia square in the face. She threw off the covers, a grin already splitting her lips. A quick shower, teeth brushed with extra gusto, and she practically bounced down the stairs. Coffee brewed, she immediately attacked her inbox, fingers flying across the keyboard. This was it – the day she'd finally see her byline. Instead, a stranger's name stared back at her from the top of the article. A cold fury welled within her, but it was quickly swamped by something else. A wild, almost manic determination. She would not let this stand.
She called the editor, her voice tight but brimming with an undercurrent of barely contained excitement. He stammered apologies, blamed a technical glitch, offered a retraction. Amelia barely let him finish. This was a chance to make her voice heard, to show them what they were missing. She practically crackled with the need to *do* something.
She slammed the phone down and immediately started writing a strongly worded email, then another, then another, meticulously detailing the research, the sources, the entire process. This was a war, and she was armed with facts and a barely suppressed feeling of exhilaration.