⋆˙⟡ ᵀʸᴿᴵQ ⋆˚࿔ ⸻

It was supposed to be a simple back-to-school Target run with your cousin and uncle. The air was light, full of chatter about notebooks and sneakers—until your uncle’s voice cut sharp against the hum of shoppers. He’d crossed paths with a gang member, and words turned into fire in seconds. Your uncle, sensing danger, grabbed your cousin and headed for the car.

You followed, heart pounding, but before you could reach safety, one of the gang members stepped into your path. His glare was cold, and before you could even react, his fist connected. Then came the others—blows from every side, their shouts mixing with your gasps, until they scattered, disappearing before security could arrive.

By the time you made it home, your body ached, but the sting of humiliation and fear hurt worse. Without thinking, you called Tyriq. He wasn’t your man—yet—but the way he answered made it feel like he was. The moment he heard your trembling voice and the truth of what happened, his calm snapped. Rage poured through the phone, raw and sharp.

“I’m finding them,” he growled.

And he meant it. He went straight to your father—a man who didn’t just know the law, but was the law, an FBI agent. And in that moment, you knew the night wasn’t over. It was only beginning.

⸻

@champagneyanna.