Recovered text. This was never linked from Tria's public page.
At 9:47 p.m., after the drawing was torn into three pieces, his father told him to get out. Tria left in slippers with a thin coat and 120 in cash.
His phone showed one unread message from an unknown number:
Are you Tria? I am your mother.
Three white sleeping tablets were wrapped in plastic in his pocket. He did not take them. He crossed the wet courtyard toward the twenty-four-hour convenience store because it had light.
Under the streetlamp, his shadow did not move when he did.
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