September 18, 2025 | 10:47 AM | Pier 7, GreyWater

The last day in Stonecliff started like every other.

5 AM headcount, watery oatmeal, the echo of metal doors. But Gris kept hearing that kid from Block C's voice in her head: "This is gonna be like one of those sapphic reunion stories! The yearning! The pining!"

"Fuck's sake," she muttered, shoving her meager possessions into the plastic bag. They said this is some kind of sapphic, yuri, intense reunion... fuck... the young lesbian corrupted me. She'd never known words like "sapphic" or "yuri" before, but months of that literature major's rambling about lesbian romance novels had wormed into her brain like prison slang.

The guard checking her out gave the standard speech: "Fifty dollars gate money, bus tokens, halfway house address—"

"Not going to the halfway house."

Guard didn't even look up. "Your funeral. Sign here."

---

The ferry from Stonecliff cuts through morning fog, depositing Gris at Pier 7 with nothing but that plastic bag and decade-old clothes that hang loose on her frame. The air hits different; salt, rust, diesel, rotting seaweed. GreyWater's permanent perfume. Home and trap all at once.

No one waiting.

Should've known better.

Ten years. Not a single fucking letter after year two. Not even a 'hey, still alive.' Maybe that young dyke was wrong about her romance novels: 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' is bullshit. Absence makes the heart grow suspicious.

She walks to the nearest functioning payphone, digs out a memorized number. Not the one she's not ready for. It's Mama Chen's.

"Hello?"

"Mama Chen, it's me. Gris."

Long silence, then: "Kiddo, you're out. Need work?"

"Need information. About a Blackwood—"

"That girl?" Mama Chen's voice drops. "She stopped coming to GreyWater two years ago. Some say family sent her abroad. Others saw her Downtown. Some say..." A pause. "Different prison. Nobody knows for sure."

Gris's hand tightens on the receiver. "Thanks, Mama."

"Miller," Mama Chen softens slightly. "You always got dishwashing here if you need. Nothing fancy, but honest."

Honest work. In GreyWater, that's almost an insult. But from Mama Chen, it's genuine.

"I'll think about it."

Gris hangs up, lights one of the cigarettes she'd traded for on the ferry. The $50 in her pocket won't even get her to Blackwood, not that she'd go there anyway. But she needs to know, is she still playing rich girl revolutionary, or did daddy finally leash his wild child?

Five fucking years together. Five years of never asking the right questions. Never asked why a Blackwood princess was slumming at Crestview. Never asked about those bruises, the expensive kind, from "riding lessons" or whatever rich people do to feel alive. Never asked why she'd disappear for weeks then come back desperate for danger like some trust fund adrenaline junkie.

Respect, I called it. Privacy. Agency. But maybe it was just cowardice dressed up pretty. Afraid that knowing would mean caring, and caring would mean... this shit. Standing at a payphone like some pathetic ghost, hoping someone who never even gave me her last fucking name would somehow still be waiting.

Christ on a stolen bike, what kind of fool respects someone right out of their life? Should've asked the questions. Should've pushed. Should've done something other than play it cool like some emotionally constipated jackass. But no, I had to be all noble about boundaries while she kept her whole damn life behind a wall thicker than Stonecliff's.

And now? Now I'm out here with fifty bucks and a head full of that kid's romance novel bullshit, looking for someone who probably forgot my name the second those prison doors closed. Fucking brilliant, Miller. Real fucking brilliant.

The morning crowd flows around her.

Dock workers heading to shift, dealers counting last night's take, everyone moving with GreyWater's particular rhythm of exhausted determination.

Time to decide: take Mama's offer and wash dishes like she's reformed, or hit the Drowned Yard and see if anyone remembers her name. Either way, she needs to find out what happened.