The engine ticked softly as Malik turned it off.
The night had gone quiet again, like nothing had happened.
But the inside of his car told a different story.
Dark stains marked the passenger seat.
Blood.
Dre's blood.
Malik sat there for a moment, staring at it, his jaw tight. The events of the alley replayed in flashes—shouting, chaos, the smell of danger.
He exhaled slowly.
"This ain't supposed to follow me here…" he muttered.
He stepped out of the car and quietly opened the back door, grabbing an old rag and a bottle of water. He moved quickly, glancing around the street to make sure no one was watching.
Then he started scrubbing.
The stain didn't come off easily.
It spread first.
That made it worse.
"Damn…" Malik whispered under his breath, scrubbing harder.
The porch light suddenly flicked on.
Malik froze.
The front door creaked open.
"Malik?" his mother's voice called out.
He quickly shifted his body, trying to block her view of the seat.
"I'm good, Ma," he said quickly. "Just… cleaning something."
She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"At this time of night?" she asked.
Malik forced a small laugh.
"Yeah… just spilled something earlier."
But she wasn't convinced.
Mothers never were.
She walked closer.
Too close.
Her eyes dropped past him—and then she saw it.
The blood.
She gasped.
"Oh my God—Malik!" she rushed forward, grabbing his arm. "Are you hurt?!"
"I'm fine," he said quickly.
"Don't lie to me!" she snapped, her hands already checking him—his shoulders, his arms, his chest. "Where are you hurt?"
"I said I'm fine," Malik repeated, softer this time.
She stopped.
Her hands slowly pulled back.
Her eyes moved from his face… back to the car seat.
Then back to him again.
"That's not your blood…" she said quietly.
It wasn't a question.
It was a realization.
The silence that followed was heavy.
"Whose is it?" she asked.
Malik looked away.
"Just someone I helped," he said.
"Someone?" she repeated, her voice rising slightly. "What kind of 'someone' bleeds like this, Malik?"
He didn't answer.
She stepped back, shaking her head slowly.
"I knew it," she whispered. "I knew it wasn't over."
"It is over," Malik said firmly, turning to face her. "I told you—I'm done with all that."
She pointed at the car.
"Then what is this?!"
Malik clenched his jaw.
"A situation I didn't go looking for," he said. "It just happened."
"That's how it always starts," she replied sharply. "You say it 'just happened'… and next thing you know, you're right back in it."
Her voice cracked slightly.
"I just got you back."
Malik's expression softened.
"I'm not going back to that life," he said quietly.
"Then prove it," she said.
The words hit harder than anything else.
She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes filled with fear, not anger.
"Because I can't lose you," she added softly.
Malik swallowed.
"You won't," he said.
She glanced at the car one last time before turning toward the house.
"Clean it up," she said quietly. "And come inside."
The door closed behind her.
Malik stood there alone again.
The rag was still in his hand.
The stain was still there.
He looked at it for a long moment before continuing to scrub.
This time slower.
More focused.
As if he wasn't just cleaning the car—
but trying to erase everything that came with it.
After a while, the stain faded.
Not completely.
But enough.
Malik stepped back, breathing out.
Then he looked up at the house.
At the light still on inside.
At the life he was trying to protect.
And for the first time since leaving the studio, something inside him shifted.
This wasn't just about music anymore.
This was about proving he could change.