“Maybe the board isn’t level,” Alex offers, repositioning a magnet carefully. Testing it. It holds. “See? If we just?—”
The magnet falls again. Hits the floor with a soft clink.
We both stare at it.
“Okay that’s also weird,” I say.
“That’s very weird.”
Alex tries again. Same spot. The magnet holds for a second, then slides down like it’s been pushed.
“What the fuck,” she whispers.
I reach for it. My hand is shaking now. Place the magnet carefully. Hold my breath.
It sticks.
“There,” I say. “See? It’s fine. We just?—”
I pull my hand back. The magnet stays.
“Body heat,” I say out loud. “Metal warms up against skin. That’s just—that’s physics.”
“Dylan—”
“It’s physics, Alex. It’s not—it’s not anything else.”
She looks at me for a long moment. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.” She repositions another photo. “Physics. Uneven board. We bumped it. All very normal explanations.”
“Exactly.”
We keep rebuilding in silence. When everything’s back in place—Dom, the ring photo, The Dahlia, and yes, Elizabeth Short still dead center where she never fell—we both step back.
The board looks exactly like it did before.
Except now we’re both thinking about how it fell.
And how one photo didn’t.
“So,” Alex says finally, her voice determinedly light. “Saturday at the club.”
“Saturday at the club,” I echo.
“Just two girls having a fun night out.”
“Super normal. Very regular.”
“Definitely not investigating a murder.”
“That would be crazy.”
Alex bumps her shoulder against mine. We stand there, looking at the murder board, drinking wine through ridiculous straws, pretending we’re not both a little freaked out.
“For the record,” Alex says quietly, her eyes fixed on Elizabeth Short’s face. “If something weird is happening—like actually weird—I’m glad it’s happening to both of us.”
