The apartment doesn’t feel the same anymore.

It’s not just quiet now.

It feels… wrong.

I push away from the sink, my breath uneven, and look toward the hallway again.

The closet door is still slightly open.

I shouldn’t go back.

I already know what’s there.

But my feet move anyway.

Slower this time.

Heavier.

Like I’m walking toward something that already changed things just by existing.

I reach the closet and push the door open the rest of the way.

The air inside is still—stale, unmoving.

My eyes go straight to the floor inside where the clock was earlier.

The gun hasn’t moved.

Of course it hasn’t.

It’s exactly where I left it.

But it doesn’t feel the same as it did a few minutes ago.

Before, it was just… shocking.

Now—

Now I understand what it is.

I step closer.

Not all the way.

Just enough.

“That’s not normal,” I say quietly.

The words sound clearer this time.

More certain.

“That’s not just something you have.”

I stare at it.

Try to make it smaller in my head.

Less significant.

But it won’t shrink.

Because it’s not just an object.

It has a purpose.

And that purpose isn’t neutral.

It’s not for decoration.

It’s not accidental.

It exists to hurt something.

Or someone.

My chest tightens.

Not sharp—just deep.

Settling in.

Lucas had this.

Lucas hid this.

From me.

I swallow.

My throat feels dry.

Why would he need that?

The question doesn’t feel open anymore.

It feels like something I’m avoiding finishing.

My pulse starts to pick up again.

Faster.

More present.

“He wouldn’t—”

I stop.

Because I don’t actually know what I was about to say.

Wouldn’t what?

Wouldn’t hurt someone?

Wouldn’t be involved in something like that?

My stomach twists.

I don’t know that.

Not for sure.

I thought I did.

But then—

The drugs.

The way they controlled me.

The way everything felt like it wasn’t mine anymore.

The people around Dylan.

The things I didn’t understand.

My chest tightens again.

This time it hurts.

What if he’s part of that?

The thought lands fully now.

Not half-formed.

Not avoidable.

And it doesn’t go away.

I take a step back.

My hand brushes the doorframe to steady myself.

“No,” I say quieter. “No, he helped me. He—he got me out of that.”

He stayed this morning.

He didn’t leave me.

That meant something.

That still has to mean something.

But then—

Why this?

Why hide it?

Why not answer?

My phone is still in my hand.

I look down at it.

Then back at the shelf.

Then away.

Like I don’t want both things in my line of sight at the same time.

Because together—

They don’t make sense.

And that’s worse than either one on its own.

My breathing tightens again.

Not as chaotic as before.

Just… heavier.

Like something’s pressing in from the inside.

“I need to ask him,” I say.

That part feels clear.

Simple.

I just need to hear him explain it.

That’s all.

But he’s not answering.

And suddenly—

Waiting doesn’t feel like an option.

Waiting means sitting here with this.

Letting my brain fill in the gaps.

Letting those thoughts get louder.

Sharper.

More convincing.

I shake my head slightly.

“No. I’m not doing that.”

My eyes flick back to the gun one last time.

It doesn’t feel shocking anymore.

It feels… intentional.

Like something I wasn’t supposed to see.

That’s worse.

I step back fully this time.

Turn.

The movement is quick—too quick—and my shoulder bumps the doorframe.

I barely register it.

I’m already moving.

Living room.

Shoes.

I shove them on without sitting down.

My hands aren’t steady now.

Not out of control.

Just off enough to notice.

Keys.

Phone.

I grab both.

“I just need to ask,” I mutter.

The words sound thinner now.

But I hold onto them anyway.

Because the alternative is—

I don’t finish that thought.

Dylan.

The name comes into focus.

If anyone knows what’s going on—

It’s him.

That alone is enough.

I move to the door.

Grip the handle.

Cold metal under my palm.

Solid.

Something I can actually feel.

I pull it open.

The air outside hits me immediately.

Cool.

Sharp.

I step out.

And this time—

I don’t hesitate.

The walk there feels shorter than it should.

Or maybe I’m just not paying attention.

My breathing still isn’t right.

Not full panic anymore.

Just… tight.

Like something’s sitting in my chest and refusing to move.

Dylan’s building comes into view.

I slow down slightly as I approach.

Not because I want to.

Because something in me hesitates.

This is where answers are.

That should feel like relief.

It doesn’t.

It feels like stepping into something I won’t be able to undo.

I push through the entrance anyway.

The hallway is quieter than I expect.

My footsteps sound louder than they should.

I reach his door.

Stand there for a second.

My hand lifts.

Stops.

Then knocks.

Once.

Twice.

A pause.

Then—

The door opens.

Dylan.

He looks exactly the same.

Composed.

Put together.

Like nothing in the world has shifted even slightly.

His eyes land on me.

Take me in.

Not quickly.

Not slowly.

Just… completely.

“Well,” he says.

Like I just showed up for something expected.

“That’s a surprise.”

My chest tightens again.

“I need to talk to Lucas,” I say immediately.

No greeting.

No buildup.

Dylan leans slightly against the doorframe.

Casual.

Blocking just enough of the doorway to make it clear I’m not walking in yet.

“He’s not here.”

The words land fast.

Too fast.

“What do you mean he’s not here?”

Dylan tilts his head slightly.

Like he’s considering how much to say.

Or how to say it.

“He had training,” he replies. “You knew that.”

“I called him,” I say. “He didn’t answer.”

“That happens.”

His tone is light.

Almost dismissive.

Like this is normal.

Like I’m the one overreacting.

My fingers tighten slightly around my phone.

“He always calls back.”

Dylan’s expression doesn’t change.

But something in his eyes sharpens.

Just slightly.

“Does he?” he asks.

It’s not a challenge.

Not exactly.

But it doesn’t feel neutral either.

My chest tightens again.

“I just need to know where he is.”

Dylan studies me for a second longer.

Then—

He steps back.

Opens the door wider.

“Come in.”

I hesitate.

Just for a second.

Then step inside.

The room is dim.

And we’re not alone.

There’s someone else there.

Sitting.

I freeze for half a second.

I wasn’t expecting that.

He looks up.

His eyes land on me—

And something flickers.

Recognition.

Not of me.

Of something connected to me.

My stomach drops slightly.

Dylan notices.

Of course he does.

“That’s my roommate,” he says casually. “Don’t worry, he’s harmless.”

He looks tired.

Not harmless.

Hollow.

My chest tightens.

My eyes don’t stay on Dylan this time.

They go back to him.

The guy on the couch.

He’s watching me.

Not confused.

Not curious.

Just—

Quiet.

Something in my chest tightens.

That look—

I’ve seen it before.

I take a step forward without really thinking about it.

“Are you okay?” I ask him.

The words come out too fast.

Too direct.

Dylan moves slightly.

Not blocking me—

But enough.

“He’s fine,” Dylan says lightly.

I don’t look at him.

I keep looking at the guy.

“Did he give you something?” I ask.

My voice is sharper now.

More urgent.

“Did he—”

“Noah.”

Dylan’s voice cuts in.

Calm.

But firmer.

I freeze.

Just slightly.

Not because I want to—

Because something in his tone makes me.

“He’s fine,” Dylan repeats.

My chest tightens.

That’s not an answer.

That’s the same thing he said before.

I look back at the guy.

He doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t move.

Just watches.

And something in me drops.

Cold.

Because I remember that feeling.

Not being able to—

Not being in control of what was happening.

My hands start to shake.

“He’s not fine,” I say quietly.

This time I look at Dylan.

“You said that about me too.”

Dylan exhales softly.

Almost amused.

“You’re projecting—”

“I’m not,” I cut in.

My eyes stay on the guy.

“Did he give you something?” I ask him. “Did he—”

The guy shifts slightly.

It’s small.

Barely noticeable.

But it’s the first real movement.

Dylan notices too.

Of course he does.

“That’s enough,” Dylan says lightly.

But it’s not for me.

It’s for him.

The guy’s eyes flick toward Dylan—

Then back to me.

And for a second—

Something breaks through.

Confusion.

Recognition.

His mouth parts slightly.

“You—” he starts.

His voice is rough.

Like he hasn’t used it properly.

My chest tightens.

“Yeah,” I say quickly. “Yeah, I was—I know what this is. You don’t have to—”

“Lucas,” he says.

The word hits wrong.

Too fast.

Too clean.

I freeze.

“What?”

Dylan doesn’t move.

Doesn’t interrupt.

That’s worse.

The guy blinks slowly.

Like he’s trying to hold onto something.

“Lucas was here,” he says.

My chest tightens.

Hard.

“What do you mean he was here?”

“He—” the guy swallows. “He helped—”

The word catches.

Breaks.

“Helped what?” I ask.

My voice is thinner now.

Barely holding.

The guy’s eyes drift again.

Unfocused.

“Dylan said…” he murmurs. “Said he’s good with it… that he listens…”

My stomach drops.

Cold.

Heavy.

That feeling—

That exact feeling—

My head starts to spin.

“No,” I whisper.

But it’s already there.

Forming.

Locking into place.

“What did he do?” I ask.

I don’t even recognize my own voice.

The guy doesn’t answer.

Not fully.

He just looks at me—

And there’s something in his eyes now.

Something I recognize too well.

Lack of control.

“They all do what they’re told,” Dylan says calmly behind me.

I turn toward him slowly.

My chest feels too tight.

Too small.

“What did he do?” I repeat.

Dylan meets my gaze.

Unbothered.

“Lucas is very good at following directions.”

That’s it.

That’s all he says.

But it’s enough.

More than enough.

Because now—

Now I understand.

The drugs.

The control.

The way I felt.

The way I couldn’t stop anything.

The way I—

My stomach twists violently.

“No,” I say again.

But it doesn’t mean anything now.

Because it fits.

It all fits.

And Lucas—

Lucas was part of it.

Then—

“He’s with Victoria tonight.”

The words drop clean.

No buildup.

No warning.

My stomach drops instantly.

“What?”

I don’t even recognize my own voice.

Dylan doesn’t look away.

“She needed someone,” he says. “Lucas was available.”

Available.

The word hits worse than anything else.

“No,” I say immediately. “No, he wouldn’t—”

Wouldn’t what?

Go with her?

Touch her?

Be with her?

My thoughts tangle.

Break.

Reform into something worse.

Dylan raises an eyebrow slightly.

“Wouldn’t?”

My chest tightens painfully.

“He—he was with me this morning,” I say. “He didn’t even want to go to training—”

“And yet he did,” Dylan cuts in smoothly.

Calm.

Effortless.

“And now he’s where he’s supposed to be.”

My head feels light.

Too light.

Like I’m not fully in my body anymore.

“He’s not—” I start.

But the words don’t finish.

Because I don’t know what I was going to say.

That he’s not like that?

That he wouldn’t do that?

That he—

My stomach twists hard.

Because I don’t actually know.

Not completely.

Not after—

The gun.

The silence.

The way Dylan is looking at me right now.

Like he already knows where my thoughts are going.

“He’ll be back,” Dylan says.

Calm again.

Almost reassuring.

But it doesn’t feel like reassurance.

It feels like something else.

“Eventually.”

That word lingers.

My chest tightens again.

Worse now.

Everything feels worse now.

Lucas isn’t here.

He didn’t answer.

There’s a gun in the closet.

And he’s—

With Victoria.

My breathing starts to break again.

Sharp.

Uneven.

I step back slightly.

I don’t remember deciding to.

I just—

Do.

“I need to go,” I say.

It comes out thin.

Barely steady.

Dylan doesn’t stop me.

Of course he doesn’t.

“Of course,” he says lightly.

Like this was always how this would end.

My hand finds the door.

I open it too fast.

The hallway air hits me—

And it’s not enough.

Nothing feels like enough.

I step out.

And this time—

I don’t look back.