The prison gates opened with a dull metallic sound, and Naomi Harrove stepped outside for the first time in over seven years. The air felt different—lighter, almost unfamiliar. She paused, blinking in the sunlight, gripping the small bag that held everything she still owned.
Her past life had been reduced to a few objects: a worn photo, a pair of old earrings, and documents stamped with the word released. Nothing more.
“Don’t come back,” the guard muttered as she handed over the final papers.
Naomi didn’t respond. She simply walked forward.
Across the road, a gray car waited. Jasmine.
The only person who hadn’t abandoned her.
They embraced tightly, no words needed. Then Naomi got in, and the car pulled away from the place that had stolen years of her life.
On the drive, memories returned whether she wanted them or not.
It had started like any other workday. Then two investigators showed up with documents—transfers, signatures, accounts in her name. None of it made sense.
Continued on the next page
