Chapter 16 #2
“Public information,” he says quietly. Almost too quietly. Like he’s telling me something important without actually telling me anything at all.
Then he jerks his head toward the door. Time’s up.
I down the rest of my cosmo—waste not, want not—and slide off the stool. My stomach drops as I stand, that serpent-spine sensation crawling up my back.
Someone’s watching. I can feel it.
“Really? Two of them?” I look back at the bartender as two enormous security guards start moving in my direction.
He shrugs, that coy smirk back in place. “You asked for it.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “I’m going, I’m going.”
I head toward the stairs, heart pounding, the guards flanking me like I’m an actual threat instead of a paralegal with poor impulse control and a dead woman’s ring around her neck.
The door opens just as I reach it.
Alex stumbles through, flushed and slightly disheveled, her lipstick smeared and her eyes bright. That just-got-thoroughly-distracted look I’ve seen a hundred times before.
“Oh thank god—” She grabs my face with both hands, searching my eyes. “You okay? You were supposed to—”
“I’m fine. Also, I’m being escorted out by two security guards like I tried to steal the silverware.”
“Very dramatic for a drink and some questions.”
“I know, right? I didn’t even get to finish the good nuts.”
“Dylan—” But she’s fighting a smile now, even as she pulls me through the door back toward the VIP.
The security guard gives me a look. One that says try it and see what happens.
“Now, Alex.” I grab her elbow and physically redirect her back through the door, yanking it shut behind us.
Only when we’re in the stairwell does she stop.
“What happened?” Her hands are shaking where they grip my shoulders. “You were supposed to be five minutes. That was like ten. I was about to—”
“Security noticed me. I pushed too hard.” I’m still buzzing with adrenaline. “But I got something. We need to move.”
“Gamóto, Dylan.” She pulls me into a quick, fierce hug. “Don’t do that to me.”
“Sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
“Not even a little.”
She pulls back, studying my face. “What did you find out?”
“We need to figure out who owns this club.” The words come out sharp, urgent as we start down the stairs. Fast, but not running. Never running. That would look guilty.
“Dylan. Stop.” Alex grabs my arm, stopping me on the landing between floors. The music from below is getting louder. Her other hand goes to my face, forces me to look at her. “Are you okay? Actually okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Your hands are shaking.”
I look down. She’s right. “Adrenaline.”
“What happened up there?”
“Security was about to throw me out. The bartender—” I swallow hard. “He was scared, Alex. Really scared. Of whoever’s in that booth. The one with the—”
I stop. Can’t say it. Can’t admit I saw curtains moving on their own.
“With the what?” Her eyes narrow. “Dylan.”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.” I pull away, keep moving down the stairs. “The bartender said the owner’s info is public. That’s the lead.”
She follows. That particular silence of hers—the one from when we were fifteen and I swore I wasn’t smoking behind the gym.
We pass a couple making out against the wall. Someone’s phone buzzes. Normal Saturday night sounds.
Two more flights. My calves are burning. The music gets louder with each step.
“Okay, seriously.” Alex grabs my arm again on the next landing. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“What?”
“You’ve got that look. The murder board look.” She’s studying my face in the flickering stairwell light. “Something happened in there besides the bartender.”
I hesitate. The ring is still warm against my chest.
“The curtains in the booth. The one he warned me about.” I force the words out. “They were moving.”
“Moving how? Like someone was behind them?”
“Moving like there was a breeze. But there was no breeze, Alex.” I can hear how I sound. Crazy. Like my great-aunt. “The air was still and thick and—”
“Okay.” She doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t dismiss it. Just squeezes my arm. “Okay.”
“You believe me?”
“I believe something is happening that we don’t understand yet.” She starts walking again, pulls me with her. “But right now? We focus on what we can prove. The owner. The connection. The rest—”
“The rest can wait.”
“The rest can wait.” She pauses on the next landing. “Although for the record, if you get possessed by a dead woman, I’m calling an exorcist before I call your mom.”
“That’s actually the correct order of operations.”
“I know. I’ve thought about it extensively.”
“Of course you have.”
“Someone has to plan for the supernatural logistics. You’re too busy being haunted to think practically.”
Despite everything—the fear, the adrenaline, the impossible curtains—I almost laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m prepared. There’s a difference.”
We make it to the main floor. The bass hits like a physical force. Bodies everywhere. Heat and sweat and sound.
We weave through the crowd toward the exit. Someone spills a drink. Someone else grabs my arm trying to pull me toward the dance floor. I shake them off.
Alex is already pulling out her phone, squinting at the screen in the strobing lights.
“Corporate filings are public record,” she mutters, fingers flying. “LLCs, DBAs, registered agents—”
“Can you get it tonight?”
“Can you get it tonight, she asks, like I’m not literally Philadelphia’s best forensic accountant—”
“You work in accounts payable—”
“With the skills of a forensic accountant. I’m manifesting.” She’s scrolling faster. “Give me ten minutes and the club’s entire ownership structure.”
“You’re the best.”
“I know. It’s a burden.”
We make it outside. The January air hits my face like a slap. Clean. Cold. Real.
“Dylan,” she says quietly, still staring at her phone. The glow illuminates her face in the darkness. “What if the club owner is—”
“Don’t.” I cut her off, looking around at the people in line, the smokers huddled by the door, anyone who might be listening. “Not here. Not now. We find the name first. Then we figure out what it means.”
But we both know. We both feel it.
Whatever we’re about to find, it’s going to change everything.
We start walking toward the street to catch a ride home. Alex links her arm through mine. Her grip is tight. Clinging.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.
“For what?”
“Leaving you alone up there. I said five minutes and it was—”
“Alex, you got us the access we needed.”
“Yeah, by making out with a stranger while you were—” Her voice cracks. “While security was coming for you. While you were in actual danger.”
I stop walking. Turn to face her under a streetlight. “Hey. Look at me.”
She does. Her eyes are too bright.
“We’re okay,” I say firmly. “We got out. We got information. That’s what matters.”
“Is it?” She’s not letting this go. “Because I keep watching you trade pieces of yourself for this investigation. And now I’m doing it too. And I don’t—” She swallows hard. “Christé mou, Dylan. What are we becoming?”
The question hangs between us. A car passes. Someone laughs down the block.
“Dandelions,” I say finally. “We’re becoming dandelions. Growing through concrete. Doing what we have to do.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It’s not supposed to be.” I squeeze her hand. “For the record, that was way more than five minutes.”
“For the record, you were being threatened by security guards while I was distracted by a bartender with good hands.”
“Multitasking.”
“Terrible multitasking.” But she’s almost smiling now. Then it fades. “Next time, I stay with you.”
“Deal.”
We both know it’s a lie. We’ll split up again if we have to. We’ll keep trading pieces of ourselves. We’ll keep growing through the concrete until it kills us or we break through.
But for now, we walk. Together.
My heels click against the pavement. And somewhere behind us, in that VIP lounge with its fluttering curtains and its bartender bound by NDAs, secrets are being kept that we’re about to uncover.
Alex’s hand finds mine. Squeezes once.
Because we both know what comes next. Following the money means going after institutional power. The kind that owns clubs and politicians and probably judges. The kind that makes bodies disappear so thoroughly even I can’t find missing person reports.
The kind that will absolutely kill us if we get too close.
We keep walking anyway.