They found Reggie Williams dead on Prince Street.

They found my fingerprints in his car.

They found a story that fits too well.

They found their next scapegoat.

I fought my way out of opioids and into daylight, and the past still stalks me like a shadow with a badge. One touch on a glove box turns into a noose, and every fact tightens. Reggie’s last call points straight at me, and the new street drug, Lily, perfumes the whole case with rot.

I hear the sirens coming for my apartment, and I slip out the back like a ghost with a pulse. I run to Amelia Radsek, the woman who once stood in the rehab circle and spoke about tearing down the Syndicate. Her words saved people, and now her name is the only door that still opens for me.

An investigative journalist named George circles the truth like a blade, hungry for the cut that makes it bleed.

A man named Vincent feeds Amelia scraps from the trafficking ring, guilty enough to choke on every secret.

Clues scatter like broken glass, and I follow them barefoot through plain disguises, misleading objects, and hidden discoveries. Even my next-door neighbor looks different when a murder hangs in the air like smoke.

The city becomes a scavenger hunt, and every “evidence” tag reads like a warning label on my life. I keep running, because cages come in more than one form.