The days after that night blurred together. Each passing hour felt like a moment suspended in time, like the calm before a storm that Y/n couldn't see coming, but could feel in the pit of her stomach. Dexter was there, his presence always just a little too close, a little too constant. The case had shifted from an investigation to something more dangerous—something personal.

Y/n couldn't tell anyone about it. She couldn't let anyone in on what had happened between her and Dexter, not even her closest colleagues. No one could know the truth about how deep she was sinking into this darkness, into him.

But there was no escape now.

The case had taken another turn, and now there were more victims, each one marked by the same brutal precision as before. The killer's messages had become clearer, almost as though he were inviting Y/n into a game—one that had no rules, no boundaries. Dexter was as obsessed as ever, but now, there was something different in his eyes, something that suggested that the case wasn't the only thing consuming him.

And it wasn't just the killer she was chasing anymore.

It was herself.

Late one evening, after hours of pouring over evidence, Y/n found herself once again sitting across from Dexter in his lab. He was examining a new set of clues, his hands moving over the materials with practiced precision, but his mind wasn't just on the case. She could tell. There was a darkness behind his calm demeanor now, something far deeper than she had ever imagined.

"You've been quiet," Y/n said, breaking the silence. Her voice was softer than usual, careful, as though she was walking a fine line.

Dexter didn't look up, his focus unwavering on the evidence before him. "Thinking," he replied simply. "It's hard to stop once you start."

Y/n's heart raced, but she forced herself to remain composed. "About the case? Or about us?"

At that, Dexter's eyes flicked up to meet hers. There was no answer, only a subtle shift in his expression. A knowing look that was far too unsettling.

"Both," he said quietly. "Because, whether you want to admit it or not, they're tied together now. The case, you, me..." His voice trailed off, but Y/n knew what he meant. She could feel it too—the inescapable pull that connected them, the undeniable fact that they were both caught in this web, and there was no way out.

Y/n stood up abruptly, pacing in front of him. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, of conflicting emotions. She could feel herself slipping, and it terrified her.

"You can't keep doing this," she said, her voice cracking. "You can't keep pulling me in like this, Dexter."

He remained seated, his gaze never leaving her as she moved restlessly around the room. "I'm not the one pulling, Y/n," he replied, his tone oddly calm, like he had already accepted that they were both beyond saving. "You've been following me this whole time. You've been chasing the truth, chasing me. And now you're scared."

"I'm not scared of you," she shot back, her voice fierce. But even as the words left her lips, she knew they were a lie. Because the truth was, she was scared—scared of what they were becoming, scared of what this obsession was doing to them both.

"Then why are you shaking?" Dexter's voice was low, almost gentle, but it held an edge of something darker. "Why does it feel like you're walking on the edge of an abyss, knowing you can't pull yourself back from it?"

Y/n froze, her breath catching in her throat. She hadn't even realized how much she was trembling until he pointed it out. The truth hit her like a punch to the gut. He was right.

She wasn't scared of the killer. She wasn't scared of the case.

She was scared of this. Scared of what she was becoming. Scared of the way Dexter had woven himself into the very fabric of her life, pulling her further down into the darkness.

"You're wrong," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can stop."

Dexter stood up slowly, his movements deliberate, each step bringing him closer to her. "Can you?" His voice was soft, almost a taunt. "Because you know what I know, Y/n. The moment you started walking this path, there was no stopping. Not for either of us."

He was so close now, so close she could feel the heat of his body. There was no distance between them anymore.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked up at him, their faces inches apart. "You're not real," she whispered, the words tasting bitter in her mouth. "This isn't real."

But even as she said it, part of her knew it wasn't true.

Everything she was feeling, everything she had experienced in the past few weeks, was more real than anything she had ever known.

Dexter's eyes softened for a moment, something almost like sympathy flashing in them. But then, his lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "It's too late for denial, Y/n. You already know what's real."

Y/n closed her eyes, taking a shaky breath. The edge was closer now, and she could feel herself teetering on it, not knowing whether to fall or to fight.

But Dexter's words hung in the air, suffocating her: You've already chosen.

And she knew, in that moment, that she had.