I reached for his hand before I could talk myself out of it.
He looked down at my fingers wrapping around his.
The smile faded.
“I need a favor,” I said.
His brows lifted. “Darling, I’ve lost two lives already covering for you.”
“Beautiful,” I corrected softly.
His eyes warmed.
Then his voice dropped. “All right, Beautiful. What kind of favor?”
“A big one.”
“That’s never good.”
“They want to move me by dawn.”
He went still.
I watched the knowledge hit him. Not surprise. Dylan was too sharp for surprise. He had probably already heard pieces, guessed the rest, and filled in the parts nobody wanted to say out loud.
His jaw flexed. “Yeah.”
“So before they do, I need to go somewhere.”
“No.”
“You don’t even know where.”
“I know your face.” He glanced toward the door. “And that face means criminal stupidity wrapped in a pretty bow.”
“I need to see her grave.”
The room went quiet.
Dylan’s hand shifted under mine, not pulling away, just tightening.
“Mandy’s?” he asked.
I nodded.
The name was strange in my mouth even when I didn’t say it. Mandy. My mother. A woman who had given me life and left me with a thousand questions sharp enough to cut skin.
“I’ve never been,” I whispered. “I always knew where it was. I just couldn’t bring myself to go.”
Dylan didn’t interrupt.
That was one thing about him most people missed. He flirted like breathing, smiled like trouble, and moved through a room like he had already planned three exits and two sins. But when something mattered, when the air thinned and the truth stepped out bleeding, Dylan could be still.
“I need to talk to her,” I said. “I need closure before I can move on and put the past to bed. I need to… I don’t know. Respect her. Love her. Hate her. All of it.”
My throat burned.
“It’s confusing,” I admitted. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
