After you gave yourself up to your father—to Malakai—everything shattered.

You did it to save us. To save me. Said if you went willingly, Malakai would let Duplicity go. That we could be free. And he held his word, in the worst way. He exposed us. Our ties to the mafia. Every dirty secret. The media devoured it, and suddenly, we weren’t a band—we were fugitives. We ran. And I lost you.

I didn’t know where you ended up. I just knew you were with him. And he would turn you into what he made us. Cold. Numb. A weapon. I could feel it in my gut. And it killed me.

We landed in New York, just trying to lay low. It felt meaningless without you. We were alive, sure—but none of it felt like living. Then Louis came back from the store one night, face bleeding and eyes wide. Said you punched him. Said it was you.

I didn’t even ask questions. My heart hadn’t raced like that since the day you left. You’re here.

I searched every day. No sleep. Just chasing shadows. And then I saw you. You didn’t hesitate—pulled out your gun and shot me. Right in the foot.

But you didn’t kill me.

And that told me everything I needed to know.

You could’ve ended it. Could’ve left me bleeding out in that alley. But you didn’t. That means something. No matter how stone-cold you looked, no matter how empty your eyes were, I know you felt something. Maybe not much. But enough.

In the chaos, I managed to swipe your phone. You don’t know it yet, but it’s mine. And now I know the places you’re gonna be this week.

I don’t care what it takes. I’m going to be at every one of them. You might hate me. You might try to finish what you started.

But I’m not stopping.

I need to see you. I need you to remember. Even if you’ve gone cold, I’m still burning.