DIABLO
Joe is here.
Brian followed him the entire way, never losing distance, never slipping up. That much is certain.
The bathroom was chosen because it leaves no room to run. No exits without passing me. No witnesses that matter. The smell of disinfectant burns the nose, sharp and clean, failing to hide the rot underneath. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, flickering just enough to make every shadow feel alive. Muscles stay tight, coiled like wire under skin.
The last stall is reached just in time. The door closes softly, left unlocked on purpose. Every detail matters. One mistake ruins everything. Get this right and the next few days belong to April. Time together, quiet moments, maybe even Rome. That future sits in my head like a promise, keeping the shaking away.
Footsteps enter.
