CHAPTER TEN

The key scraped in the lock, echoing in the stillness of the night. Morgan's hand trembled slightly as she pushed open the door, her body screaming for rest. The familiar scent of home hit her nostrils, a mixture of old leather and lavender air freshener that usually brought comfort. Tonight, it only emphasized how long they'd been away, chasing ghosts and shadows.

Derik stumbled in behind her, his usual grace replaced by bone-deep weariness. "Christ, I feel like I've aged a decade in a week," he muttered.

Morgan nodded, her throat too tight for words. The weight of their investigation, the constant threat of Cordell's men, pressed down on her like a physical force. She glanced at the windows, checking for any sign of surveillance or danger – a habit that had become second nature.

A soft whine and the click of nails on hardwood broke through her paranoia. Skunk appeared from the darkness of the living room, his stocky pitbull frame a welcome sight. His tail wagged lazily, a picture of normalcy in their upside-down world.

"Hey, boy," Morgan whispered, dropping to her knees. She buried her fingers in his short fur, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat. For a moment, the world narrowed to just this – the warmth of her dog, the simple joy of coming home.

Derik leaned against the wall, a ghost of a smile on his tired face. "At least someone's happy to see us."

Morgan looked up at him, seeing the strain around his eyes, the new lines etched by worry and sleepless nights. He was putting himself in danger by still being with her. Morgan's stomach clenched at the thought. She pushed it away, focusing on the here and now.

She reached out, taking Derik's hand. It was a small gesture, but it anchored them both. Skunk pressed against her leg, a warm, solid presence.

For a moment, they stood there in the dim entryway, a tableau of exhaustion and resilience. Morgan allowed herself to imagine, just for a second, that they were safe here. That the outside world, with its dangers and complexities, couldn't touch them.

But even as the thought formed, she knew it for the lie it was. This respite was temporary, a brief calm before the storm that was surely coming.

Morgan's eyelids felt like lead weights as she and Derik shuffled down the hallway. The silence of the house wrapped around them like a thick blanket, muffling even the sound of their footsteps. When they finally reached her bedroom, Morgan didn't bother with the lights. They collapsed onto the bed, fully clothed, the mattress dipping beneath their combined weight.

For a long moment, they just lay there, breathing in sync. Morgan could feel the heat of Derik's body next to her, a comforting presence in the darkness. She turned to face him, her hand finding him in the shadows.

"We made it through another day," she whispered, her voice hoarse with exhaustion.

Derik's fingers tightened around hers. "Barely," he murmured back.

Morgan inched closer, until their foreheads were touching. She could smell the faint traces of his aftershave, mixed with sweat and the metallic tang of fear that seemed to cling to them both these days.

"I keep thinking about Cordell," she admitted, the words slipping out before she could stop them. "About what he took from me. From us."

Derik's free hand came up to cup her face. "We'll get him, Morgan. We're close. I can feel it."

She wanted to believe him. God, how she wanted to. But the weight of the past decade – the stolen years, the shattered trust – pressed down on her like a physical thing.

Instead of responding, Morgan leaned in and kissed him softly. It wasn't passionate or desperate, just a gentle reminder that they were here, together, alive. When she pulled back, she nestled her head against his chest, letting the steady thump of his heartbeat lull her towards sleep.

Just as she was drifting off, Derik's voice rumbled through his chest. "I love you, you know. No matter what happens."

Morgan's throat tightened. "I know," she whispered back. "I love you too, Derik."

With that, they fell asleep in each other’s arms. Morgan expected another nightmare—most of her nights were plagued by them, these days. Images of her father, images of Cordell, images of the cabin where she grew up, where she now knew was just a hideaway for her dad as he hid his true identity. But when she drifted away, listening to the sound of Derik’s heart, she felt an odd sense of peace. Morgan dreamt of nothing at all.

Until the shrill ring of her phone shattered Morgan’s sleep like glass. Morgan jerked awake, her heart pounding as she fumbled for the device on the nightstand. The glowing numbers on the clock read 5:00 AM.

"Shit," she hissed, recognizing Mueller's name on the screen. With a sinking feeling in her gut, she answered. "Cross here."

"Cross." Mueller's voice was clipped, tense. "We've got another one."

She sat up, suddenly wide awake. "Where?"

As Mueller rattled off an address, Morgan was already moving, shaking Derik awake. The brief moment of peace they'd shared evaporated, replaced by the grim reality of their job.

"We'll be there in twenty," she told Mueller, ending the call.

Derik looked at her, his eyes reflecting the dread she felt. "Another body?"

Morgan nodded, reaching for her boots. "Looks like your feeling was right. The bastard's struck again."

As they hurried to get ready, Morgan couldn't shake the cold certainty settling in her bones. This was only the beginning, and things were about to get much, much worse.

***

The city streets blurred past as Morgan gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white. The pre-dawn darkness cloaked everything in eerie shadows, broken only by the occasional streetlight. Beside her, Derik sat in tense silence, his jaw clenched.

As they turned onto a street lined with dilapidated buildings, Morgan couldn't help but draw parallels to her own past. They pulled up to the crime scene. The flashing lights of police cruisers painted the rundown apartment complex in surreal shades of red and blue. Yellow tape cordoned off an area near a cluster of dumpsters, where a swarm of officers and forensic techs moved about with grim purpose.

As they stepped out of the car, the stench hit them – a nauseating mix of garbage and something far worse. Morgan's stomach churned, but she steeled herself. This was the job, after all.

"Ready?" she asked Derik, her voice steady despite the tension coiling in her gut.

He nodded, his green eyes reflecting the same determination she felt. "Let's see what we’re dealing with.”

Together, they approached the scene, the weight of their mission hanging heavy in the air. Another life lost, another puzzle piece to fit into the twisted game they were playing. And somewhere out there, a killer was watching, waiting for their next move.

Morgan's boots crunched on broken glass as she approached the body, her eyes scanning the scene with practiced efficiency. The victim lay face down, his limbs splayed at unnatural angles, a dark pool of blood spreading beneath him like a macabre halo.

"Jesus," Derik muttered beside her. "This one's messy."

Morgan knelt by the corpse, her gloved hand hovering over the man's back. "Stab wound to the chest," she observed, her voice clinical. "Looks like he put up a fight."

As she leaned closer, a flutter of white caught her eye. A small, folded piece of paper rested on the victim's back, held in place by a single drop of blood. Morgan's heart raced as she carefully plucked it from the body.

"Another calling card," she said, unfolding the paper. Her brow furrowed as she studied the intricate pattern of symbols and numbers. "It's code. Computer code, I think."

Derik peered over her shoulder. "Like the music notes for Lila and the equations for Simon. What the hell is this guy trying to tell us?"

Before Morgan could respond, a gruff voice cut through the air. "Agents Cross and Greene?"

They turned to see a heavyset officer approaching, his face grim beneath the brim of his hat. "I'm Officer Ramirez. Victim's name is Evan Rhodes, 31 years old."

Ramirez handed them an ID card, the face of Evan Rhodes frozen in time, blissfully unaware of his impending fate. He appeared as a perfectly average man; brown hair, hazel eyes, and a clean-shaven face. Ordinary, ordinary, ordinary -- a stark contrast to the horrific sight of his lifeless body sprawled in the parking lot. Morgan couldn’t help but feel a stark sense of failure. One thing was certain: they needed to know more about the victim, to understand how he ended up chosen by this damn killer.

***

Morgan slid into the driver's seat, the car door slamming shut with a finality that echoed in the pre-dawn quiet. She pulled out her tablet, the screen's glow casting harsh shadows across her face.

"What are you thinking?" Derik asked, settling into the passenger seat beside her.

Morgan's eyes flicked across the screen, absorbing details of Evan Rhodes' life. "I'm thinking our killer has a type," she muttered, her voice low and gravelly from lack of sleep.

"Child prodigies turned addicts," Derik said, nodding. "But why?"

Morgan's fingers swiped through articles, pausing on a photo of a young Evan accepting an award. His smile was bright, eyes full of promise. "Look at this kid," she said, tilting the screen toward Derik. "Twenty-two years old, revolutionizing data encryption. Investors were practically throwing money at him."

Derik leaned in, his brow furrowed. "From wunderkind to washed up. It's a hell of a fall."

"Yeah," Morgan agreed, her voice tinged with a bitterness that surprised even her. "One bad decision, and it all goes to shit."

She thought of her own fall from grace, the years stolen by prison. The anger that had fueled her for so long bubbled up, mixing with a strange empathy for these victims.

"You okay?" Derik's hand found hers, warm and steady.

Morgan took a deep breath, pushing the memories away. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just... I get it, you know? How easy it is to lose everything."

Derik squeezed her hand. "But you came back stronger. These victims... they never got the chance."

Morgan nodded, her jaw set. "And now some psycho is playing judge, jury, and executioner. We need to figure out why."

She turned back to the tablet, scrolling through more recent articles. "Christ," she muttered. "Rhodes was living in a dump, working as a night janitor. The last known address was that apartment complex."

"A far cry from the penthouse suites he used to frequent," Derik added.

Morgan's eyes narrowed as she focused on a particular paragraph. "Says here he was trying to get clean. Started attending AA meetings a month ago." Morgan tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, her tattoos stark against her pale skin in the dim light of the car. She turned to Derik, her dark eyes intense. "Why these people? What's the endgame here?"

Derik ran a hand through his slicked-back hair, exhaustion etched into the lines of his face. "Someone with a grudge against wasted potential, maybe? A twisted sense of justice?"

"It's more than that," Morgan muttered, her mind racing. "This killer... they're methodical. Each victim, a prodigy in a different field. It's like they're collecting trophies."

She couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something crucial. The pieces were there, but the picture was still blurry. Morgan's time in prison had taught her to trust her instincts, and right now, they were screaming that there was more to this than met the eye.

"What if," she started, her voice low, "what if the killer isn't punishing them for wasting their potential? What if they're angry that these people had potential in the first place?"

Derik's brow furrowed. "You think we're looking at some kind of twisted envy?"

Morgan shrugged, her shoulders tense. "It's a theory. But it doesn't explain everything. The calling cards, the specific targeting... it feels personal."

She glanced at Derik, noticing the dark circles under his eyes. This case was wearing on them both, bringing up ghosts they'd rather keep buried. For a moment, Morgan felt a pang of guilt for dragging him into her quest for revenge against Cordell and the corrupt FBI agents. But she pushed it aside. They had a killer to catch.

"We're close," she said, more to herself than to Derik. "I can feel it. But until we nail this bastard, more people are going to die."

Derik reached out, his hand covering hers on the steering wheel. "We'll get them, Morgan. We always do."

She nodded, allowing herself a moment of comfort in his touch before pulling away. "Let's head back to the office. We need to dig deeper into Rhodes' background, see if there are any connections we've missed."

As she started the car, Morgan couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out. Somewhere out there, the killer was probably already selecting their next target. Another fallen star, another life to snuff out. And all she and Derik could do was try to stay one step ahead in a race they weren't even sure they could win.