The one who owns her fear no matter how terrifying life gets. The one who walked into Dom’s office and shook a killer’s hand without flinching. The one who performs under pressure and never lets them see her sweat.
That Dylan walks with her head held high. Chin parallel to the floor. Shoulders back. She oozes confidence she doesn’t actually feel.
I can be that bitch.
Just keep climbing.
One step. Two steps. Landing. Turn. Keep going.
The stairwell is exactly the same as it was that night. The same fluorescent lights. The same scuffed concrete. The same metal railing cold under my palm.
“You’re doing great, Dylan,” I mutter to myself. “Very brave. Very normal. Just a regular Monday morning climbing the murder confession stairs. Living your best life.”
My voice echoes back at me. Mocking.
Even my own pep talks sound sarcastic now.
Alex would appreciate that, at least. If she were talking to me.
Which she’s not.
Because I’m apparently terrible at listening to anyone—living or dead.
But every step feels like walking through a memory. Through that night. Through the fear.
I’m about halfway up to the fourth floor, when I see it.
Something small against the wall. White against grey.
I freeze. Mid-step. Mid-breath.
An earbud.
A white Apple earbud.
Wedged against the wall where the step meets the concrete, almost invisible unless you’re looking down at exactly the right angle.
I’m already bending down, snatching it up before I can think better of it.
Please don’t have nail polish. Please don’t have nail polish. Please don’t?—
There’s a tiny red heart painted on the side. Nail polish. The same shade I’ve been wearing for three years because I’m too lazy to try new colors.
“Oh fuck.”
It’s mine.
It’s my fucking earbud.
Alex would be losing her mind right now. Would be grabbing my shoulders, shaking me, saying “Dylan, this is EVIDENCE. Evidence that you were HERE. Do you understand what this means?”
And I’d be making jokes about how at least I found the matching earbud, finally, after like three weeks of looking for it. Only I didn’t know it was missing.
And she’d tell me this isn’t funny.
And I’d say “everything’s funny if you’re scared enough.”
And she’d?—
