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The unspoken question hung between them: Was that understanding an advantage in hunting the killer, or a dangerous empathy that might cloud her judgment?

Could she maintain the necessary objectivity when pursuing someone whose motivations mirrored impulses she had fought within herself?

Morgan had no answer, only the uncomfortable awareness that somewhere in Santiago Heights, someone had obliterated the line she still struggled to maintain.

The weight of Cordell's ultimatum pressed against her consciousness as they walked toward the exit, the countdown ticking relentlessly in the back of her mind.

Five days remaining to find a solution, to protect her father and Derik from a man whose reach extended into the highest levels of the Bureau.

Five days in which she also needed to stop a vigilante killer before they claimed another victim.

The parallel pressures threatened to crush her between them, testing the compartmentalization skills she had developed during her prison years.

"One thing at a time," Derik murmured beside her, as if reading her thoughts.

His hand brushed against hers briefly, a fleeting contact that conveyed solidarity without drawing attention from the officers they passed.

"Walsh gave us a starting point, even if he's not our unsub.

We know our killer has intimate knowledge of Santiago Heights criminals, access to non-public information about their activities, and the tactical skills to execute cleanly. "

Morgan nodded, focusing on the immediate investigation, pushing Cordell temporarily to the background of her thoughts.

"We need to expand our search parameters," she agreed.

"If not a former cop, then someone else with access to criminal intelligence.

Court employees, civilian staff at the precinct, possibly even medical personnel who might have encountered victims of Rodriguez or Rivera. "

As they stepped out into the night, the autumn air felt clean and clarifying after hours in the sterile environment of the police station.

Stars punctuated the dark Texas sky, visible despite the city lights that typically obscured them.

Morgan took a deep breath, steadying herself against the dual threats that demanded her attention.

One predator at a time. She would find this vigilante, understand them without becoming them, bring them to proper justice. And then she would turn her full attention to Cordell, to protecting those she loved from a man whose corruption had already stolen ten years of her life.

The alternative—failing at either task—was unthinkable.

They walked to their vehicles in companionable silence, each processing the day's developments.

The parking lot was nearly empty at this hour, most officers having departed for home or night patrol.

Occasional bursts of radio chatter echoed from the dispatch office, reminding them that while they might pause, crime never did.

"It's after midnight," Derik observed, glancing at his watch. The subtle shadows beneath his eyes had deepened over the course of the long day. "We should get some rest. Fresh eyes might see something we're missing."

Morgan nodded reluctantly. Every instinct pushed her to continue working—to review evidence again, to develop new leads, to make use of every precious hour that remained before Cordell's deadline.

But she recognized the wisdom in Derik's suggestion.

Exhaustion dulled perception, clouded judgment, slowed reflexes.

None of which she could afford in the days ahead.

"You're right," she conceded, fishing her car keys from her pocket.

"I'll head home, review the case files once more, then try to get a few hours of sleep.

" She knew her promise of "a few hours" was the most she could commit to.

Real rest had become elusive since Cordell's visit, her sleep fragmented by hypervigilance and nightmares.

Derik studied her face, clearly seeing through her partial surrender. "I could come over," he offered quietly. "Safety in numbers. And I might actually convince you to sleep for more than three hours."

The offer tempted her—not just for security, but for the comfort his presence provided.

The solid reassurance of having someone she trusted watching her back while she allowed herself the vulnerability of sleep.

But she hesitated, still struggling with the habit of self-reliance that prison had ingrained in her.

"Not tonight," she decided finally. "I need to check in with my father, warn him to be extra cautious.

That's a conversation I'd rather have privately.

" She didn't add that she feared Cordell might be watching Derik's movements now, tracking his comings and goings.

Minimizing their time together outside of work hours might keep him safer, at least until she developed a better strategy.

Derik accepted her decision without argument, recognizing the steel beneath her words. "First thing tomorrow, then," he said. "I'll bring coffee. The good kind from that place on Elm Street, not the station sludge."

The promise of decent coffee earned a fleeting smile, a brief lightening of the gravity that had settled over her features. "I'll hold you to that," she replied, unlocking her car door. "Get some rest yourself. We're going to need every advantage we can get."

As she drove through the quiet Dallas streets toward home, Morgan felt the events of the day settling over her like physical weight.

Walsh's bitter disillusionment with the system.

The methodical killer still hunting the streets of Santiago Heights.

Cordell's ultimatum ticking away in the background of everything.

Each pressure alone would be enough to test her resilience; combined, they threatened to overwhelm even her prison-hardened defenses.

By the time she reached her house, exhaustion had seeped into her bones, making even the simple act of checking her security system require conscious effort. Skunk greeted her at the door with quiet enthusiasm, his solid warmth pressing against her legs as she secured the locks behind her.

"Just you and me tonight, buddy," she murmured, crouching to scratch behind his ears. The pit bull leaned into her touch, a stable presence in a world that seemed increasingly unstable.

Later, after a brief shower and a perfunctory check of her perimeter, Morgan settled into bed with case files spread around her.

Skunk took up his customary position at the foot of the bed, his body a warm weight across her feet.

She had intended to review everything once more, to search for connections they might have missed, but her body had other plans.

The files slipped from her fingers as her eyes grew heavy, fatigue finally overcoming determination. Her last coherent thought before sleep claimed her was that tomorrow would bring them one day closer to answers—and one day closer to Cordell's deadline.

She would face both when morning came.