Page 35 of For Silence

"The individuals you mourn were but cogs in a machine that grinds the innocent to dust. You arrest those without voice, without power, and parade them as trophies. Yet here I stand, a ghost in your midst, ensuring true equity is dispensed. If you believe in the virtue of justice, cease your pursuit. Acknowledge that the system you protect is inherently flawed and that I am merely an agent of its much-needed purification."

Morgan's hand tightened into a fist. The arrogance of the words was almost palpable. It was a manifesto of delusion.

"Sounds like he fancies himself some kind of vigilante," Derik muttered, his face pale under the harsh fluorescent lights.

"Cross," Mueller addressed her, his commanding presence pulling her from her thoughts. "We need more than what we have. This rhetoric—it's calculated, meticulous. We're dealing with someone who knows how to manipulate perception."

"An expert on decoding letters might give us the leverage we need," Morgan suggested, her mind racing ahead.

"Exactly my thought," Mueller affirmed with a nod. "There's a man, Marv Jenson, retired now. He used to work these kinds of puzzles for us. Find him, see if he can make sense of this." His finger tapped the letter with a finality that brokered no argument.

"Will do," Morgan replied crisply, her focus shifting to the task at hand. While they sought expertise in semantics and subtext, Mueller and the others would scour the letter for fingerprints, DNA—anything that could lead them to the physical body behind the cerebral taunts.

"Keep me updated, Cross. Every hour," Mueller instructed, before turning his attention back to the other agents huddled around the lab equipment.

"Let's go, Derik." Morgan's voice was steely with determination as she grabbed a copy of the letter. They had a new lead, however tenuous, and it was time to follow it.

***

Morgan gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles whitening as she navigated through the congestion of downtown traffic. Beside her, Derik sat slumped, his fingers fidgeting with an unopened pack of gum. The letter addressed to him had unsettled him more than he was willing to admit.

"Hey," Morgan's voice softened as she glanced at him. "You know it's just a twisted game to him, right? Targeting you because you stood up there, in front of those cameras."

Derik managed a tight-lipped smile. "Yeah, I know. It's just... getting in my head, you know?"

"Let it get in his instead," she advised. "We'll crack this. We always do." Her words were more than just comfort; they were a promise, a lifeline cast into the turbulent sea of doubt and fear.

Derik nodded, silent, and turned his gaze out the window.

Morgan refocused on the road ahead, but her mind churned with theories about the killer. "Justice" seemed to be his calling card—a perverse sense of retribution. But the teddy bear parts, they hinted at something more personal, a narrative that went beyond cold-blooded vengeance.

"Whoever this guy is, he's fixated on justice, or at least his own warped version of it," Morgan mused aloud, breaking the silence. "But there's a child in this picture somewhere. Those teddy bear fragments... They're not just calling cards. They're symbolic."

"Symbolic of what?" Derik asked, his voice tinged with exasperation.

"Loss," she replied, her tone edged with certainty. "Maybe he lost a child, or maybe he sees himself in one. Could be why he feels justified taking lives—he thinks he's balancing the scales for someone who can't do it themselves."

"Could be," Derik agreed, though his skepticism was evident.

"Teddy bears are meant to comfort, to protect children from the monsters under the bed," Morgan continued, her eyes never leaving the road. "Our perp, he's trying to be the protector, the avenger. He's making monsters out of those he deems guilty."

Derik remained quiet, digesting her words. The profile was coming together, piece by fragmented piece.

"Justice for the innocent," he finally murmured. "He's taking the law into his own hands."

"Except the law isn't on trial," Morgan countered sharply. "People are. And he's appointed himself judge, jury, and executioner."

The afternoon sun dipped below the skyline, casting long shadows across the city. As they drove on, the weight of their case pressed down on them, a tangible force that neither could escape. But Morgan's resolve never wavered; she was determined to stop the killer before another life was claimed by his twisted sense of justice.

Morgan steered the car to a halt, gravel crunching beneath its weight. The house before them, a modest two-story with chipped paint and an overgrown garden, seemed to sag with secrets. Morgan glanced at Derik, his pallor still betraying the rattling effect of the letter. "Ready?" she asked, her voice steady despite the chaos brewing in her mind.

"Let's do this," Derik replied, steeling himself as they got out of the car.

Morgan felt each step like a pulse, the adrenaline coagulating in her veins as the gravity of their quest settled on her shoulders. She knocked firmly, three times.

The door swung open, revealing Marv Jenson. His hair was a wild tuft of white, his eyes gleaming with a sharpness that belied his age. "Agents Cross and Greene," he greeted, recognition flashing across his features. "Heard you might be dropping by."

"Thanks for seeing us on short notice, Marv," Morgan said, accepting the warm grasp of his handshake.

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