I left Dylan’s apartment without looking back.He didn’t try to stop me. Just stood there, silent, like a man watching a fire he didn’t bother putting out. And maybe that was the truth, maybe I was always meant to burn.I drove until I couldn’t feel my fingers on the wheel. Ended up in a parking garage, staring at nothing, chewing on the edge of a panic attack.Then I opened the flash drive again.Not on my laptop this time. On a secure system. A hacker friend from my undergrad days owed me favors, and I called one in. Said I needed everything decrypted. Hidden files. Metadata. Time stamps. Anything.They called me an hour later, voice low and clipped.“There’s a hidden folder. You didn’t see it.”I hadn’t.I went back, followed the breadcrumb they gave me.Inside were audio logs, notes, screenshots of messages, even therapy session transcriptions. And a folder marked...“HER”.My hands shook as I opened it.Dozens of photos.All of me.Years back, Surveillance stills, Social media scr
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