Page 34 of For Silence

He reached across the table, his hand hovering in the air as if considering whether to cover hers. He seemed to think better of it and withdrew, scratching the stubble on his chin instead. "You're just spooked by the whole situation, which is completely understandable. But you're safe, Lara. You haven't done anything bad, have you?"

His question, rhetorical as it might have been, stung like salt in an open wound. Lara forced a laugh, high-pitched and strained. "No, of course not." She met his eyes then, searching for some sign of doubt, some inkling that he suspected the truth. But there was only warmth, concern, and an unwavering trust that tightened the knot of guilt in her chest.

"See? There's nothing to worry about," Gavin continued, his voice firm and reassuring. "These things, they have a way of getting under your skin, making you see shadows where there are none. Stick to your routine, lay low, and this will all blow over soon enough. You'll see."

Lara's fingers trembled around the ceramic mug, the clinking of spoon against porcelain loud in her ears despite the hum of conversation that filled the coffee shop. She could feel Gavin's gaze on her, patient yet probing, as if he could peel back the layers of her facade with nothing but a look.

"I..." Lara started, voice barely above a whisper, "I haven't been completely honest." The words felt like stones in her mouth, heavy and hard.

"Okay," Gavin leaned forward, his own cup forgotten. His eyes were steady, a silent encouragement for her to continue.

She drew in a breath, feeling the weight of her confession crushing. "There was this case—a woman, um, ran over," she said, her voice gaining strength even as it wavered. "And I... I saw something. An attorney, meddling with the jury, trying to sway them for the accused."

Her admission hung between them, a delicate truth threatening to shatter at the slightest touch.

"Did you report it?" Gavin's question was gentle, not accusatory, but it stung all the same.

Lara shook her head, a solitary tear betraying her stoic front. "I turned away, pretended I didn’t see it." The guilt constricted around her throat, making each word a struggle. "But no one knows, right? It’s not like I was involved."

Gavin's smile crept across his face, slow and reassuring. "No one knows," he echoed, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Morgan’s boots echoed in the sterile hum of the FBI forensic lab, her strides brisk and purposeful. Derik was at her side, scanning the room with that curious intensity she’d come to rely on. Agent Ramirez trailed a step behind, urgency creased into the lines of his face.

The lab was a hive of activity. At its center, Mueller stood like an immovable pillar among the flurry of agents. His gray-streaked hair seemed to blend with the cold lighting above, casting him in an authoritative glow that demanded attention without a word spoken.

Morgan approached, her senses sharpening. “What have we got, Mueller?”

Mueller didn’t waste a breath. “A letter,” he said, voice gravelly and low. It lay on the table amidst a scatter of forensic tools, untouched and ominous. “Addressed to Agent Greene.” He shot a glance toward Derik, who stiffened visibly.

"Because of the press conference?" Morgan asked, her words clipped as she leaned in for a closer look without touching the parchment.

"Likely," Mueller nodded, his expression unreadable. "It just came in. No prints, no postage, no leads on where it originated." The frustration in his tone resonated with Morgan's own. Every dead-end felt personal.

Derik swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. “Do we think it’s from our guy?”

"Who else would be so bold?" Mueller countered, his gaze locking onto Morgan's for a fleeting moment – a silent acknowledgment of the gravity they both felt.

"Let's see what he has to say," Morgan said, though her gut twisted at the thought. She didn't miss the way Derik's hand trembled slightly as he reached out, his fingertips grazing the edge of the paper as if fearing it might combust upon contact.

"Careful," Mueller warned, though his eyes were fixed on the letter with the same morbid fascination that had drawn them all in. It was more than just evidence; it was a window into the mind of a man who held their city in a grip of terror.

"Agent Ramirez, ensure this area remains secure. No one touches anything until we document every possible trace," Morgan ordered, already mentally cataloging the procedures they'd need to follow.

"Understood," Ramirez replied, but Morgan was already tuning out the surrounding noise, focusing instead on the letter that taunted them with the promise of answers wrapped in riddles.

They needed to dig deeper, to peel back the layers of bravado and find the truth hidden in the ink. Whoever penned that letter held the key to stopping the cycle of death that had begun to feel inevitable.

"Let's break down what we know," she said, turning to Derik, who met her gaze with a resolve that mirrored her own. They were in this together – hunting shadows in a world that had suddenly become all too dark.

Morgan's eyes skimmed the neatly typed text, her stomach churning with each self-righteous word.

"Esteemed Agent Greene," the letter began, a mocking formality that set the tone for what followed. "You chase shadows while justice slips through your fingers like sand. Your hunt is fruitless, for I am not the villain in this poorly scripted play you call law enforcement. Rather, consider me an editor, excising the corrupt passages from an otherwise noble profession."

Derik leaned in closer, his jaw clenched. "He's taunting us."

"Quiet," Mueller snapped, gesturing for them to keep reading.

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