Missing No More

Chapter Ten

Lila

The first night back home, I sleep with the lights on.

No ring light. No phone propped up on my desk. No audience waiting for me to speak.

Just silence.

It feels unfamiliar—like stepping into a room that used to be crowded and realizing it’s finally empty. I lie awake listening to the soft hum of the house, the normal sounds I used to drown out with notifications and music and voices that weren’t really there.

When morning comes, sunlight spills across my bed like it’s apologizing for being late.

I sit up slowly, testing my body. Sore. Bruised. Real.

Alive.

Downstairs, I hear Jade laughing at something Amir says, and the sound anchors me. Proof that the world didn’t end while I was gone. Proof that some things stayed.

I pull on a hoodie and head down.

They look up at the same time.

Jade crosses the room in three steps and hugs me like she’s afraid I’ll evaporate. Amir smiles—small, tired, relieved.

“You slept?” he asks.

“A little,” I say. “Enough.”

That’s true in more ways than one.

The news cycle moves fast.

By afternoon, the story has already shifted from shock to analysis to outrage. The arrest warrant is public now. The evidence overwhelming. Sponsors are dropping statements. Accounts are going private. Creators are posting tearful videos, insisting they never knew.

I watch none of it.

Instead, we sit on the back porch, the three of us, letting the sun warm our skin.

“They’ll be caught,” Amir says, more statement than hope. “They left too many traces.”

“I know,” I reply.

Jade studies me. “And when they are?”

I think about it.

“I don’t want revenge,” I say finally. “I want distance.”

She nods, like she understands exactly what I mean.

Jade

Seeing Lila like this—quiet, grounded, here—makes something in Jade unclench.

For days, fear had lived in her bones. Now it drains away slowly, leaving exhaustion in its place.

They did it. They really did.

She glances at Amir, who’s tapping absentmindedly at his phone, then at Lila, whose hands are wrapped around a mug like it’s a lifeline.

“You know,” Jade says carefully, “you don’t owe anyone an explanation.”

Lila smiles faintly. “I know.”

“You don’t have to post. Or tell your story. Or be brave in public,” Jade continues. “You already were.”

Lila’s eyes soften. “I want to tell it. Just… not the way they expect.”

Amir looks up. “What way do you expect?”

Lila meets his gaze. “On my terms.”

Amir

That night, Amir sits at his desk, laptop open, but for once he isn’t chasing clues.

He’s thinking about systems. About how easily power hides behind helpfulness. About how many people confuse access with care.

His phone buzzes.

A message from Lila.

Can you help me lock everything down? Accounts. Devices. All of it.

He types back immediately.

Of course.

Another message follows.

And… maybe set up something new. Offline. Quiet.

He pauses, then smiles.

I think I know exactly how.

Three days later, Lila posts for the first time since the livestream.

One post. No filters. No music. No captions asking for likes or shares.

Just words.

I’m alive.

I was found because I was loved, not because I was watched.

I’m stepping away to heal.

To everyone who ever felt owned by their audience—

you don’t belong to them.

I’ll speak again when I’m ready.

The comments explode.

Lila doesn’t read them.

She logs out.

Weeks pass.

School resumes. Therapy appointments settle into a rhythm. The bruises fade. The nightmares lessen.

Life stitches itself back together in uneven but honest ways.

One evening, as rain taps gently against the windows, Amir shows up at Jade’s house with a flash drive.

“What’s that?” Jade asks.

“A backup,” he says. “Of everything.”

Lila looks at it, then away. “I don’t want to live in that moment forever.”

“You won’t,” Amir says. “But someone else might need it someday.”

She considers that. Then nods.

“Okay,” she says. “We keep it safe.”

Later that night, as Lila lies in bed, her phone vibrates once.

She freezes.

Slowly, carefully, she picks it up.

A notification.

Unknown Account Followed You

Her heart stutters.

She opens it.

The profile is blank. No posts. No picture.

Just a bio.

Stories don’t end when the stream cuts.

Lila exhales.

Not fear this time.

Resolve.

She screenshots it.

Then blocks the account.

Then sets her phone face-down on the nightstand.

Tomorrow, she’ll show Amir.

Tomorrow, they’ll trace it.

Tomorrow, they’ll decide what comes next.

For now, she closes her eyes.

Outside, the rain keeps falling.

The world keeps watching.

But this time, Lila isn’t missing.

And she’s not alone.

END