“I’m full enough. Now watch me crush my own steps.”
Tonight, Lani wasn’t empty. She was full — of rage, of grief, of the grind. She stood on the rails of the old overpass, the same one where she learned to skate as a kid, the same one where her dad taught her: Crush your own steps before the world crushes you.
Lani laughed, riding the rails into the dark. She wasn’t running from home. She was running toward the woman she had to become — one who could finally say:
