The letter came two days later.


No return address.


Just her name scrawled on the front in ink she recognized too well.


Inside:

A photo.


An old one.


Her and Malik. Her smile forced. His hand tight around her waist.


And scribbled on the back:


“The world might believe you now.

But I know the real you.”


Tia didn’t cry.


She just sat at the kitchen table with the envelope in one hand and a lighter in the other.


Nova walked in just as she flicked the flame.


“You sure?”


Tia didn’t hesitate.


She dropped the photo into the sink and watched it curl into ash.


“Yeah,” she said. “Let him haunt paper. I’m done giving him breath.”


But later, when Maya heard about the letter, she tensed.


“You think that’s the end of it?”


“No,” Tia said. “But I think that’s the end of me hiding.”


She filed a police report that afternoon. Brought the original envelope. Took pictures of everything.


Even talked to Devin—Darius’s contact—who flagged Malik’s name in the city database.


“Dude’s been couch hopping, no fixed address, but definitely in the city,” Devin warned. “He’s watching. That much is clear.”


Tia leaned forward. “Then he’s gonna see exactly who I am now.”


That night, she read a new poem at The Yard. But it wasn’t just a set piece.


It was a boundary.


“You can’t reach me anymore.

I’m not where you left me.

I grew.

You didn’t.


You built a cage.

I built a stage.


And now the only thing I carry from you

Is evidence.

Not emotion.”


The room was still.


Then thunderous.


Nova met her with a slow clap and a proud smile.


“You just made survival sound like gospel,” they said.


Tia smirked. “Good. Because I’m done preaching silence.”