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.
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