Page 131 of The Devil of Downtown

When I saw Brody last night—beaten to a pulp, high out of his mind, terrified of shadows—I didn’t know what else to do. I was just trying to do the right thing. But I don’t even know what that means anymore.

And as much as I hate to admit it, maybe I never trusted Dane the way I told myself I did. Maybe I let his father’s “love of his life” comment burrow deeper than I wanted to acknowledge. Perhaps some part of me was always braced for this—for him to become the ruthless version I first imagined, the one who would grow tired of me and leave me behind without a second thought.

And when he finally did… I think I helped make it happen.

When I step out of the subway, dusk has already surrendered to evening, the sky drained of color and heavy with rain. Wind funnels down the station stairs and chases me up to street level, cold enough to sting. The twelve hours I gave Brody arenearly gone, ticking down like something lodged beneath my ribs, and if there’s one thing I can’t stomach right now—not after everything—it’s breaking my own word.

I make the short walk to Jennie’s apartment, each step heavier than the last.

When she opens the door, her eyes go straight to my face. Her expression softens instantly.

“How did it go?” she asks.

I shake my head. That’s all I can manage.

“Oh, Ivy...” She pulls me in for a quick hug, warm and tight, and—for one fleeting second—I almost let myself lean into it, let myself fall apart. But I pull back fast.

“Please don’t say anything to Brody,” I murmur.

Jennie nods, even though worry flickers across her face. “He’s still here. He... pulled himself together a bit, showered, ate something, and after the article came out, he said he’s ready to hand himself in.” She pauses. “I told him I’d drive him. He said I could drive his old truck, the one he uses to haul his equipment around. It’s parked at his place, so we’ll need to grab it first. ” She is quiet for a moment, a crease forming in her brow. “Will you come for moral support? Look, I totally understand if you don’t want to.”

I don’t want to, not after everything today.

But I can’t abandon Jennie, and not when I told Brody I’d make sure he did the right thing.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll come.”

A few hours later, we’re winding through the outskirts of the neighborhood, Brody in the passenger seat staring out the window, jaw tight, fingers tapping a frantic rhythm against his thigh. I sit in the back, seatbelt cutting across my chest, trying to ignore the ache that hasn’t left since I walked out of Dane’s office.

Rain spatters against the windshield, light but persistent, the sky above us is ink-dark, swollen with the promise of more.

“Can we stop for a minute?” Brody asks, breaking the silence. “I just... need to grab some cigarettes.”

Jennie flicks her eyes to the rearview mirror, checking my reaction. I give a small shrug, not trusting myself to say anything out loud.

By the time we pull into the gas station, the rain has thickened into a fine, misty drizzle, the kind that clings to everything and makes the world seem slightly unreal.

“I’ll be right back,” Jennie says, unbuckling and twisting around to look at me. “I’ll grab the cigarettes and some water.”

I nod, forcing a tight smile. Brody doesn’t react at all. He sinks deeper into his seat, shoulders caving inward, like he’s trying to fold himself out of existence. He’s barely spoken since we left Jennie’s apartment—not that I expected him to—but Brody was never the kind to suffer quietly. Silence on him feels wrong.

I lean forward slightly, my voice soft. “Hey. Brody. Are you okay?”

At first, he doesn’t respond. His reflection in the fogged window is faint and distorted, bruises blooming dark beneath his eyes, his expression distant, almost ghostlike.

“You’re doing the right thing, you know.”

Still nothing. But then the muscle beneath his eye twitches. He draws in a slow, deliberate breath, the kind you take when you’re bracing yourself for something painful.

“It rained that day too,” he says quietly. “Seems... fitting.” His mouth curves, but there’s no humor in it. “I thought today would be the day my life ends. But it really ended the night I got into that car.”

My lungs draw tight. “Things can still get better, Brody,” I say, even as doubt gnaws at me. “This is rock bottom, but it won’tstay like this. We’re on our way to try and fix it. Going to the police is the right choice.”

A bitter, almost tender smile ghosts across his lips.

“The right choice,” he repeats, like he’s rolling the words on his tongue and finding them meaningless. Then, without looking at me, he reaches out and slams his hand down on the central lock. A soft, decisive click echoes through the car.

My stomach drops so hard it feels like freefall.