It snagged on something soft.

I tugged, expecting clumps of hair.

Instead, I pulled up a wet mass of dark strands tangled with something else—thin, stringy fibers that didn’t look like hair at all. As more came free, my stomach dropped.

There, mixed with the hair, was a small piece of fabric, folded and stuck together with soap residue.

It wasn’t random lint.

It was a torn piece of clothing.

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