The air in the apartment felt heavier now, charged with an unspoken tension that neither of them seemed willing to break. Y/n stood there, frozen, her breath shallow as she met Dexter's gaze. His presence seemed to fill every inch of the room, suffocating her, yet there was a part of her that couldn't look away.

She knew she should be afraid, that she should put distance between them, but something deeper inside her stirred. It was the pull, that magnetic force between them—one she hadn't been able to ignore for weeks.

"You're right," she said quietly, breaking the silence. Her voice sounded distant, as though she were speaking to someone far away, not the man standing directly in front of her. "I don't want you to stop."

Dexter's eyes darkened, the intensity in them shifting like a storm about to break. His lips parted slightly, but he didn't speak immediately. He didn't need to. His silence said everything.

Y/n forced herself to take a step back, her mind racing, trying to make sense of the chaos that had erupted inside her. She couldn't think straight, couldn't process everything that had happened. Her instincts screamed at her to stay composed, to focus on the case, on the truth, on the killer. But everything was tangled now, too entangled with Dexter.

"I don't know what this is," she muttered, shaking her head, half to herself. "This feeling... I don't know if I can keep pretending I don't see it. I don't know if I can keep pretending that I don't see you."

The words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, as if she had stripped herself of the walls she had spent years building. Dexter didn't move, didn't respond immediately. His gaze, though intense, seemed... understanding.

He took a slow step toward her, the space between them shrinking. "You're not pretending, Y/n," he said softly, his voice low, almost hypnotic. "You're seeing the truth. You're seeing me. And you know it."

Her heart beat harder against her chest, the rhythm erratic, as if it couldn't keep up with her spiraling thoughts. She couldn't lie to herself anymore. She had already crossed a line, and there was no going back.

The truth. The truth was dangerous. But what if it wasn't the case that was consuming her? What if it was him? Dexter. The darkness in him that somehow mirrored her own. What if they were both spiraling toward something they couldn't control?

"I don't know if I can trust you," she admitted, her voice shaking slightly. "I don't know if I even trust myself anymore."

Dexter was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, it was with a quiet intensity that seemed to wrap around her like a second skin. "You don't need to trust me. You just need to accept it."

"Accept what?" she asked, her words barely a whisper.

"Accept that this—we—are inevitable," he replied, his voice dark, with an undertone of certainty that made her skin prickle. "That everything that's happened has been leading to this moment."

Y/n swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. He was right. Everything had led her here, to this point of no return. She had been following a path, and now, she couldn't see the way back.

His hand reached out, stopping just short of touching hers. The closeness of him was overwhelming, suffocating, yet she couldn't move. She was paralyzed by the tension, by the connection that had formed between them—one she couldn't name but couldn't escape.

"Y/n," Dexter said, his voice now a near whisper, "you're already part of this. You've already chosen."

His words echoed in her mind, repeating over and over again like a mantra. You've already chosen.

The truth of it hit her like a cold wave. The choice had already been made the moment she had walked into this dance with him. She hadn't just chosen to pursue the case. She had chosen to walk into his world.

And she didn't know how to get out.

"Dexter..." Her voice broke, the weight of everything crashing down on her at once. "What do we do now?"

He stepped closer, his hand finally brushing against hers. The contact was electric, sending a jolt through her. Dexter's touch was gentle, almost reassuring, yet there was a darker edge to it that made her pulse quicken.

"We do what we have to," he replied, his eyes never leaving hers. "We finish what we started. Together."

Y/n felt herself nodding, though part of her knew it was the beginning of the end. She was too far in now, too entangled with him and the case, to pull herself out.

And maybe, just maybe, she didn't want to.

But in that moment, as Dexter's presence enveloped her, she knew one thing for certain: whatever they were about to do, it would change everything.

There was no going back now.