“For now.” She wipes her eyes. “But Dylan, he knows where we live. He’s not going to stop. This is just the beginning.”
Neither of us moves.
“What did we learn?” Alex asks finally. Breathless. Trying to regain control of the conversation. Of herself.
“You were right.” I bend over. Hands on my knees. Trying to catch my breath. “I can never go back.”
To not knowing. To ignoring my body. To pretending I don’t feel things I absolutely feel.
“Finally.” She sighs like her life mission just finished. Like she’s been waiting years for me to figure this out. “Welcome to women’s intuition.”
“What did you learn?” I straighten. Because this wasn’t just my lesson. This was hers too.
She blinks at me. “What?”
“You learned something too.” I gesture at the door. At where Marcus stood. “What was it?”
Alex is quiet for a long moment. Then. “That I can’t always protect you.”
The words land. Heavy.
“I’ve been so focused on keeping you safe, on teaching you to trust yourself, on—” She stops. Swallows. “But tonight showed me. Even with all my intuition, all my awareness, I can’t be everywhere. Can’t be everything. And that terrifies me.”
“Alex—”
“No, let me—” She takes a shaky breath. “I need you to be able to protect yourself. Because something’s coming. Something dark. And I won’t always be there to hit serial killers with doors.”
When I’m not there.
The words echo from dinner. From her warning about the walk. From every prophetic thing she’s said for weeks.
My chest goes tight. Then tighter. That feeling when you’re falling in a dream and you know you’re about to hit the ground.
“You’ll always be there.” My voice comes out harder than I mean it to. Desperate. “You have to be.”
She doesn’t answer. Just reaches up and touches the dandelion necklace at her throat. The one I gave her at dinner. The one frozen mid-wish.
“I will be,” she says finally. “For as long as I can.”
It’s not the same as always.
It’s not the promise I need.
But it’s the truth.
And we both know it.
“No takebacksies?” Because this is terrifying. Feeling everything. Knowing things I can’t un-know. Having my body scream at me every time danger’s near.
“No,” Alex says firmly. “But Dylan—how did you live this long?”
“I have you.” I manage a weak smile.
“You do.” She whispers. Squeezes my shoulders. “But more importantly—now you haveyou.”
The words hit different than they should.
Because she’s right.
