“I killed her, Dom.”
Not Dom’s voice. Someone else.
My body freezes.
And then Alex’s voice in my head:Be careful in the stacks.
That mystical all-knowing quality. Her face when she smelled snow. That flicker across her features, gone before I could name it.
She knew.
She fucking knew, and I didn’t listen.
Every thriller podcast I’ve ever listened to, every true crime episode, every legal brief about witness safety—they all scream the same thing:Get out. Leave. Don’t be the person who heard too much.
But my feet won’t move.
Something starts at the base of my spine. Cold. Then hot. Then cold again. Like something’s crawling up my back except there’s nothing there.
Goosebumps break out across my arms. My neck. My scalp.
My ears start ringing. Not loud. Just this high-pitched hum that sits behind everything else.
The folders in my arms feel impossibly heavy. My heels slip from my other hand, hitting the concrete with a sound that cracks through the silence.
I freeze.
I just climbed four flights in pitch darkness without hesitation. But this—this spooks me.
“What did you do?” Dom’s voice cuts through the silence. Calm. Practiced. Like he’s heard this before.
The words hit me like a slap.
Notwhat are you accused of.Notlet’s review the evidence.
What did you DO?
Dom knows. Dom believes whoever this is. And he’s asking for details so he can help.
My stomach drops.
I should leave. Back down the stairs, back to the stacks, grab my things and get the hell out.
But my feet won’t move.
I don’t know who’s up there. A client. Someone Dom represents. Someone who just admitted to murder.
Someone who might come down these stairs.
And everything I thought I knew about my job, my boss, my future?—
It’s gone.
All of it. In one sentence.
Dom isn’t just defending criminals. He’s helping them get away with murder.
I don’t have a lot of time to decide what I’m going to do. Either I leave—let attorney-client privilege stand. Or I stay. I listen.
