The envelope possessed a gravitational pull that defied its physical dimensions. It felt weighted with a density that wasn’t born of paper and ink, but of the months of unsaid things that had been fermented inside its seal. Piper stood in the sterile, muted stillness of the hallway, a stark contrast to the emotional gale she had just weathered inside the office. Her fingers traced the familiar, rhythmic cadence of Jonathan’s cursive—letters that sliced through the day’s trauma with a precision that was simultaneously agonizing and profoundly restorative.
In the periphery, the school was attempting to recalibrate, its lockers clanging and bells ringing as it sought the safety of its mundane rhythm. But for Piper, the concept of “normal” had been permanently discarded. Not after the tableau of Letty standing as a sentinel beside Millie. Not after the arrival of the men from Jonathan’s old crew…
