Page 49 of Before Dawn

Aurora set down her fork. “You ready for this?”

I let out a slow breath. My chest felt tight.No, I wasn’t.But that didn’t matter.

“I have to be.”

The moment the car rolled to a stop, my stomach twisted with unease. My hands were clammy. My pulse raced. The gnawing dread refused to let go.

I had no idea if Joshua was inside or what to expect. The uncertainty was unbearable. Forcing myself to breathe, I grabbed the empty boxes and tape from the trunk and made my way toward the lobby.

Inside, the familiar faces of the security guards offered a small but fleeting sense of stability, anchoring me amid the storm brewing inside.

“Good afternoon, Miss Asher,” one of them greeted, his voice kind. “Welcome back.”

I forced a smile and nodded, but my mind was already racing ahead, bracing for what lay beyond the elevator doors. As Aurora and I steppedinside, the polished marble floors seemed to stretch endlessly, making the journey to the third floor feel like an eternity.

Bittersweet memories, heartbreak, and countless nights spent crying and hating myself swirled in my mind.

A soft ding signaled our arrival.

We stepped into the hallway, and with each step toward Apartment 50B, the weight of the moment pressed down harder.

Aurora turned to me suddenly, pulling me into a hug so fast I barely had time to react.

“Shut up and let me hug you,” she muttered before I could protest.

I frowned slightly. “But you don’t like hugging.”

“You’re my sister, dumbass.”

Her arms tightened around me, grounding me in the warmth of her presence. It was more than just a hug—it was a silent promise. A reminder that no matter what, she’d be there.

Steeling myself, I stepped inside.

Sunlight poured through the windows, but the apartment felt anything but bright. An overwhelming darkness seemed to seep into every corner.

I moved down the hallway, deliberately avoiding the living room. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and despite myself, I peeked inside. The bed was unkempt, covers tossed aside. The room felt cold, unfamiliar—just a shell of what it once was.

Then, I turned to the living room.

And stopped.

The sight before me was worse than I imagined.

Empty bottles littered the floor. Beer cans, half-smoked cigarettes, and scattered pills formed a chaotic mess, mingling with dirty dishes and leftover food that had long started to decay. The air was thick with the stench of alcohol and something sour—rotting, forgotten.

“Holy shit,” Aurora whispered.

She looked at me, wide-eyed. “This is…”

She didn’t have to finish.

“A fucking mess,” I hissed.

Aurora turned to me. “Do you want to come back later?”

Her voice was soft, but the weight of the question hit hard.

I swallowed, glancing back at the wreckage of what had once been my home. My past. My pain.

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