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CHAPTER EIGHT

As the late-afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, stretching shadows across the FBI headquarters, Morgan leaned back in her chair, the creak of worn leather barely audible over the low buzz of fluorescent lights. The day had dragged on like a bad hangover—leads that fizzled into nothing, dead ends masquerading as hope. She rubbed her temples, already feeling the familiar throb of frustration creeping in.

"Reid’s alibi checks out,” Derik said, glancing up from his laptop, his green eyes flickering with both relief and resignation. “Hotel footage shows him at the conference all night. We’re back to square one.”

“Great,” Morgan muttered, pushing away the stack of files that had begun to feel like weights tied around her neck. She let her gaze drift to the projector screen where the first frame of Lila Sanchez’s past flickered to life—a young girl, bright-eyed and beaming, clutching a violin like it was her lifeline.

The room fell silent, the only sound the soft whir of the projector. Morgan felt an unexpected pang in her chest as she watched Lila perform, the notes flowing effortlessly from her instrument, each note a whisper of unfulfilled promise. How did someone so full of life end up discarded in an alleyway, a victim of her own demons? It wasn’t just tragic; it was infuriating.

"Look at her,” Morgan said, her voice barely above a whisper, but laced with intensity. “She was a genius. A prodigy. And now look what happened.”

"Yeah," Derik replied, his tone flat, but she could see the flicker of anger behind his calm facade. "We need to figure out how someone like her went off the rails."

Morgan nodded, still entranced by the footage. Lila’s small hands danced over the strings, and for a moment, it was easy to forget the darkness that loomed over her story. But Morgan couldn’t afford to get lost in nostalgia. She had to focus. The clock was ticking, and every minute spent wallowing in what-ifs pulled them deeper into the abyss of unanswered questions.

"Let’s dig deeper into these victims’ lives before they spiraled. What drove them to this?” She leaned forward, energized by the thought. “We can’t just follow breadcrumbs. We need to get to the root of it."

The team had assembled some materials for Morgan and Derik to use, and Morgan picked up one of the magazines Simon Holt had been featured in before his downfall. Morgan leaned against the wall of the briefing room, the coolness of the concrete a welcome contrast to the heat rising within her. She flipped through the articles chronicling Simon Holt’s early career, her brow furrowing with each headline that screamed genius. “Look at this,” she said, tossing one of the glossy pages toward Derik. “They make it sound like he was the next Einstein.”

Derik caught the page mid-air, his green eyes scanning over the words. “A real tech prodigy, huh? Seems like everyone wanted a piece of him before he fell off the map.” He tossed the article onto the pile of others they’d accumulated, each one detailing Simon's groundbreaking work in data encryption and the accolades he'd received.

"Groundbreaking," Morgan muttered under her breath, flicking her dark hair over her shoulder as she pushed forward.

The projector hummed softly in the background, its light illuminating the remnants of Lila’s past brilliance on the screen. She couldn’t shake the image of the young violinist, poised and elegant, from her mind. Instead, she focused on the stark contrast between their once-promising futures and the tragic ends that awaited them both.

"Maybe it was too much pressure," Morgan said, her voice low as she flipped to a profile laden with praise for Simon. "Everyone expects you to be perfect, and then you crack under it. Just like Lila." The words slipped out before she could stop them, but the truth hung heavy in the air—she knew the feeling of expectation all too well.

"Or maybe someone pushed him," Derik suggested. His voice was cautious, almost tired. It was an idea that had been brewing beneath the surface of their investigation, one that poked at Morgan's nerves. But she brushed it aside, not wanting to entertain the thought.

"Yeah, or maybe he just got addicted to gambling and couldn’t handle losing." She turned away from him, focusing instead on the projector screen where Lila's image flickered with haunting beauty. The juxtaposition between what she had been and what she had become echoed painfully in the silence.

"Still, it's strange," Derik pressed, his tone shifting. "Two stars burning out in the same way—two victims with pasts that scream potential. There has to be a connection we’re missing."

"Agreed. We should talk to some people who knew them in their prime—their mentors, maybe. We should spit up. I’ll track down Lila’s violin tutor, you look into someone who might’ve known Simon well. Sound good?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Derik nodded.

Rising from her chair, Morgan snatched the faded black leather jacket slung over the backrest. She shrugged into it, the familiar weight of her FBI badge nestled in its pocket, giving her some semblance of certainty in an investigation that seemed to be shrouded in gray.

***

Morgan flicked on the headlights of her car, slicing through the deepening twilight as she navigated the winding streets of Dallas. The sun dipped low, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch and claw at the pavement. She felt them tugging at her, too—reminders of the darkness gathering around Lila and Simon’s lives, and now, impossibly, around her own.

The GPS chirped, directing her off the main road into a quieter neighborhood. It pointed her toward a small music studio, its quaint exterior almost charming against the backdrop of crumbling brick and fading paint. Morgan parked and stepped out into the cool evening air, the scent of damp earth mingling with a faint whiff of something sweet wafting from a nearby bakery.

A faded sign above the door read "Clarice’s Music Academy." Inside, the atmosphere was thick with nostalgia—a tapestry woven from years of melodies and dreams. She pushed the door open, and it creaked like an old floorboard, announcing her arrival.

"Hello?" Morgan called, her voice echoing softly against the warm-colored walls filled with photos and framed sheet music.

"Just a moment!" came a reply, a warm tone that cracked slightly with age.

Morgan waited, scanning the room for signs of life, her eyes landing on instruments lining the walls, each one carrying stories of their own. A violin caught her attention—a gleaming piece that seemed to glow under the dim lights. Lila’s potential had once been wrapped in such beauty.

"Ah! You must be Morgan Cross," an elderly woman said, stepping into view. Clarice was petite, her silver hair pinned back neatly, her smile radiating warmth but tinged with lines that spoke of hard-earned wisdom. “I heard you were coming.”

"Nice to meet you, Clarice." Morgan offered a firm handshake, appreciating the way Clarice's grip had strength despite her delicate appearance. "I’m here about Lila Sanchez."

"Of course," Clarice said, guiding Morgan deeper into the studio, where the air buzzed with memories. The walls were adorned with photographs of students—some smiling widely, others looking pensive, all clutching their violins. "Lila was one of my brightest stars."

"Brightest until the light dimmed," Morgan replied, her voice steady but laced with unspoken questions. She could feel the weight of the past pressing down on them both. "I want to understand more about her before... well, before everything fell apart."

"She was so talented," Clarice began, her gaze drifting momentarily to the floor. “But talent comes with its own burdens. The world expects so much from prodigies. Sometimes, they fold under the pressure. When she started to struggle, she pulled away. It was heartbreaking to watch."

"Pulled away how?" Morgan pressed, leaning forward, eager to grasp any threads that remained.

"She became distant, rebellious even. The last time I saw her, she was... lost. The joy had drained from her music," Clarice said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It was like losing a daughter." Clarice clasped her hands together, her fingers trembling slightly. "From the first lesson, it was clear she had something special. You know how some kids just… shine? That was Lila. She soaked up everything I taught her. It was like watching a flower bloom."

Morgan nodded, feeling the weight of the words. "But there’s always a flip side to that kind of talent, isn’t there?"

"Yes." Clarice’s smile faltered, her eyes clouding over. "As she grew older, the pressure became unbearable. Everyone expected so much from her—her family, her peers, even herself. It changed her."

"Changed her how?" Morgan pressed, her instinct for uncovering the truth kicking in. She needed to dig deeper to understand what had really happened to this girl who had once held so much promise.

"She started to withdraw," Clarice said, her voice thickening with emotion. "Around high school, I noticed it—the spark dimmed. She became distant, rebellious. I tried to reach out, but…” She sighed heavily, the memories weighing down her words. “It was like she was fighting a battle inside herself, and I couldn’t help her. I think, in many ways, her biggest enemy was herself.”

"Self-doubt?" Morgan asked, testing the waters, trying to piece together the puzzle that was Lila Sanchez.

"More than that," Clarice replied. "It was the fear of failure. The expectation to be perfect—that’s a heavy burden for anyone, let alone a child prodigy. And when she stumbled, she didn’t just fall; she shattered."

Morgan felt an echo of her own past creeping in, but she pushed it aside. This wasn’t about her. "Did you ever see any signs of trouble before it got too bad? Friends? Jealousy? Anything?"

"Jealousy exists among young musicians, sure, but it was never personal with Lila. Not that I saw, anyway. It was all internal. She lost sight of who she was outside of music. When she stopped performing, it was like she ceased to exist in her own mind." Clarice's voice trembled with the weight of those words.

"That must have been hard for you to watch," Morgan said, feeling the air thicken with unspoken regrets.

"Hard doesn’t quite cover it." Clarice shook her head, her expression both weary and resolute. "I wanted to save her, but sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you can't pull someone back from the edge."

Morgan felt a knot tighten in her chest. She didn’t want to dwell on her own past struggles, on how she’d fought against the currents threatening to drag her down. Instead, she focused on Lila. A girl who had become a ghost, haunted by her own brilliance.

"Thank you, Clarice," Morgan said, her tone softening. "I appreciate your honesty. I know it’s painful to revisit this."

"Just remember," Clarice said, her gaze penetrating. "Behind every story of success is a person. A person who may be battling demons you can’t see."

Morgan nodded. She knew what Clarice meant all too well.

The fluorescent lights flickered to life as Morgan pushed through the door of the briefing room, the familiar scent of stale coffee and worn-out paperwork greeting her like an old friend. Night had fallen outside, casting deep shadows that danced along the walls, but the weight of the day hung heavily on her shoulders. She spotted Derik at the table, his face illuminated by the glow of a laptop screen, the lines etched around his eyes betraying the fatigue lurking beneath his professional facade.

"Hey," she said, her voice taut, tinged with the remnants of a long day. She dropped into the chair across from him, the wood creaking under her weight. "Talk to me."

"Simon’s mentor didn’t have much to add," Derik replied, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. He let out a frustrated breath, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone. “Just more about Simon’s demons. Said he was brilliant until he wasn’t.”

"Same story, different victim." Morgan leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, the cold surface grounding her. "They were both prodigies, but it feels like they were fighting their own shadows. You know?"

"Yeah, I get it." Derik's green eyes narrowed, reflecting the flickering light. "Their addictions... It’s like they were set up to fail."

"Exactly." Morgan rubbed her temples, feeling the tension pulse beneath her skin. "All this pressure—it's no wonder they cracked. But it doesn’t lead us anywhere, does it? No suspects, no vendettas. Just two talented people who couldn’t handle their own potential. Clarice didn’t mention any rivals or enemies. Just… expectations weighing down on them like a ton of bricks.”

Morgan rubbed the back of her neck, the tension coiling like a spring. The fluorescent lights in the briefing room buzzed with an insistent hum, echoing the frustration that had settled like lead in her stomach. She leaned over the table, scanning the jumble of files and photographs scattered before her—images of Lila and Simon, shining bright in their youth, juxtaposed against the shadows of their tragic ends.

"We need an angle, Derik, something to go on," she stated. Her voice echoed in the hollow silence of the room. "I refuse to believe that these tragedies were just... inevitable."

"I know, Morgan." His gaze softened as he looked at her, a mix of admiration and sorrow drenching his words. "We'll figure it out, we always do."

She sighed and looked away, her dark eyes scanning the room as if answers would magically appear on the sterile white walls. But all that met her gaze was the cold reality of their situation: the unending paperwork, the hours of surveillance footage yet to be watched, and a case that felt like it was slowly slipping from their grasp.

"Let's get some rest," Derik suggested after a moment. There was a note of desperation in his voice that seemed almost out of place in a man like him — a man usually so composed. “You and I have both had a rough twenty-four hours, and we’re hitting a wall. We’re no good to the victims if we can’t think straight.”

Morgan nodded, knowing he was right. The exhaustion had already started seeping into her bones, a silent concession to the arduous day they'd had. But she couldn't shake off the frown that had crept onto her face, the dull ache in her chest telling her this case was far from over. "Alright," she conceded reluctantly, peeling herself away from the table.

Derik moved towards her and rested a comforting hand on her arm. His touch stirred a warmth within her, a flicker of consolation amid the enveloping darkness of their latest case. "We'll get there, Morgan," he said quietly, his gaze steady on her face.

His words hung in the air for a few heartbeats, mingling with the lingering scent of stale coffee and weariness. Morgan managed a weary smile, appreciating Derik's unwavering faith — in their partnership, in their ability to hunt down justice no matter how elusive it might seem.

"I know we will," she replied with more conviction than she felt. She squeezed his hand and then stepped away, moving towards the exit. As Morgan pushed open the door and stepped out into the cold night, she vowed to find justice for Lila and Simon — to put an end to their haunting melodies that echoed in all those left behind.

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