Chapter 9
Nine
Alex drags me toward the stairwell. Away from the glass door. Away from Marcus standing on the other side watching us.
I can feel his eyes. His attention. His intention.
And my intuition is screaming.
We crash through the stairwell door. It closes behind us with an echo that feels final.
And then Alex spins on me.
“Are you okay?” Her hands are on my face. Checking. Like she’s looking for injuries. Her fingers trembling. “Did he touch you? Did he—”
“I’m fine.” My voice shakes. “I’m fine, I’m—”
“You’re not fine.” She’s breathing hard. Furious and terrified in equal measure. “He was waiting for you. Dylan, he was waiting.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t—” She gestures wildly toward the front door. Toward where Marcus stood. Toward the violation. “He knew you’d be walking home. Knew what time. Knew which door. How long has he been watching us?”
The question makes my stomach turn.
“I don’t know.”
“He’s been here before.” Alex’s voice drops. That quality when she knows something without being told. When her intuition is screaming louder than mine. “He stood on this street and watched our windows. Figured out which apartment is ours. Maybe followed you home from work. Maybe—”
“Alex—”
“Your Instagram.” She snaps her fingers. Her brain working faster than her mouth can keep up. “Your fucking Instagram, Dylan. You tag locations. You post from the office, from restaurants, from—oh my god, you checked in at Villa di Roma tonight.”
I stare at her. “Shit.”
“He knows our routines. Where we eat. Where we work. Where we live.” She’s spiraling now. Pacing the small stairwell like a caged animal. “This isn’t him being sweet. This isn’t him courting you. This is—”
“Hunting.” The word comes out flat. Cold. True.
Alex stops pacing. Looks at me.
“Yeah.” She whispers. “Hunting.”
The words hang in the air between us. Heavy. Undeniable.
“Dylan.” Alex’s voice cracks. “I sent you out there. I sent you out there alone and he—” She presses her hands to her face. “What was I thinking? What the fuck was I thinking?”
“You were teaching me—”
“I almost got you killed!” She’s crying now. Full breakdown. “I was so focused on the lesson, on teaching you to trust your intuition, that I didn’t—I didn’t think he’d actually be there. I thought you’d feel some stranger’s bad vibes or sense danger from a dark alley or—not him. Not at our door.”
Her voice drops to a whisper. “What good is all my intuition if I can’t keep you safe?”
I grab her hands. Pull them away from her face.
“Hey. Look at me.”
She does. Her eyes red. Mascara smudging.
“You didn’t know,” I say firmly. “Neither of us knew he’d escalate this fast.”
“But I should have.” She’s shaking. “I’m the one who sees things. Who knows things. And I sent you out there like you were going for a walk in the park instead of—”
“Alex.” I squeeze her hands. “I’m okay. I’m here. The lesson worked.”
“What?”
“My intuition.” I pull the dandelion from my pocket. Wilted now. Broken. But still real. “I felt him before I saw him. My body knew. The danger, the wrongness, all of it. I knew.”
She stares at the dandelion. Then at me.
“Dahlia warned you.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” My throat feels tight.
“Holy shit.”
“Holy shit,” I agree.
We stand there for a moment. Two women processing impossible things. Magic and murder and intuition all tangled together.
“I’m sorry.” Alex’s voice is small. Younger than I’ve heard it in years. “I should have been closer. Should have stayed right behind you instead of giving you space. Should have—”
“Should have what? Known a serial killer would be waiting at our door?” I pull her into a hug. “Alex, you followed me. You showed up at exactly the right moment. The door hit him in the face. That’s not coincidence.”
“You think?” She’s muffled against my shoulder.
“I know.” Because I do. My new intuition knows.
She hugs me back. Fierce. Desperate. Like she’s trying to pull me inside her ribcage where I’ll be safe.
“He violated our space,” she whispers into my shoulder. “Our protected space. The place I sage every day, where we’re supposed to be safe.”
Her voice breaks on the last word.
And I realize: this isn’t just scary for her. It’s personal. She trusted her intuition to keep us safe, and he still found us. Her gifts didn’t warn her in time.
“You got there in time,” I say firmly. “He didn’t get in. You stopped him. He had to wait outside like some creep because you wouldn’t let him cross the threshold.”
“You don’t know that—”
“I do.” I pull back. Look her in the eyes. “Alex, I’m standing here. Alive. Because you taught me to listen. Because Dahlia warned me. Because you showed up exactly when I needed you. We’re okay.”
She searches my face. Looking for the lie. The performance. The Dylan who pretends everything’s fine when it’s not.
But I’m not performing anymore.
“We’re okay,” I repeat.
“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 have you.”
The words hit different than they should.
Because she’s right.
For the first time in my entire life, I’m not just performing confidence or pretending to be brave or faking it till I make it.
I’m actually listening to myself. Trusting myself. Believing my body when it says danger instead of telling it to shut up and be logical.
Which means I’ll feel every threat for the rest of my life. No more blissful ignorance. No more pretending everything’s fine when my body knows it isn’t. I can’t turn this off now. Can’t unlearn what I’ve learned.
I’ll carry this serpent at my spine forever. This warning system. This knowing.
And I’m choosing it anyway.
Because the alternative—walking through the world blind while serial killers show up at my door—nearly got me killed tonight.
And that changes everything.
“Come on.” Alex links her arm through mine. Starts climbing the stairs to our loft. “Let’s get you inside. I need to sage and you need wine.”
“Can we also talk about kickboxing classes?”
“Absolutely.” She laughs. It sounds slightly unhinged. “First thing tomorrow I’m finding us a gym.”
The dandelion is still clutched in my fist. Wilted now. Broken. But real.
Proof that impossible things grow through concrete.
Proof that warnings come in strange forms.
Proof that I’m not crazy—I’m just finally, finally awake.