Page 46 of For Silence

They drove on, the engine's hum and the soft whirl of tires against asphalt the only sounds piercing the quiet. It was the calm before the storm, a moment suspended in time where everything still seemed possible—even a resolution without bloodshed.

The car slid into silence again, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them like a heavy fog. Derik shifted in his seat, the leather creaking under him as if it too sensed the gravity of what was to come.

"Morgan," Derik's tone had changed—softer now, hesitant. "Before we do this... I need to know. There's something you're not telling me."

She kept her eyes on the road, focusing on the hypnotic yellow lines that seemed to stretch on forever. Her heart hammered in her chest, a silent admission of truth to his accusation.

"Derik, this isn't the time—"

"No," he interrupted, firm yet gentle. "Whatever it is, whatever you're carrying, you don't have to do it alone. We've been through hell and high water together. Remember?"

A ghost of a smile threatened to break through Morgan's stoic facade. Trust and betrayal, their dance as old as time itself, had woven a complex tapestry between them. He was right; they had seen darkness few others could comprehend. Morgan glanced at the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Derik's profile bathed in the intermittent glow of streetlights. "Why bring this up now, Derik?" she asked, her voice steady despite the undercurrent of fatigue from the night's grim parade.

"Because," Derik said, turning to face her with eyes that held an earnestness she'd come to rely on, "if things go south with Gavin, I need you to know you're not alone in this."

"Things have gone south before," Morgan countered, her words clipped like the rounds she’d chambered countless times. "We handled it then. We'll handle it now."

Derik merely nodded, the weight of their shared history pressing down on the silence between them.

As they approached Gavin Merritt’s house, Morgan's keen eyes scanned the surroundings. The building loomed ahead, its dark silhouette a stark contrast against the moonlit sky—ominous and foreboding. It was a husk of memories, the overgrown lawn whispering tales of neglect and a past that had been allowed to wither.

She parked the car a few houses down, the engine's cessation marking the transition from planning to action. She surveyed the dilapidated facade. Morgan felt the familiar surge of adrenaline, the kind that sharpened her senses and honed her focus; this was where it would end, one way or another.

The darkness seemed to seep from the windows, voids that promised no welcome. The house, once a symbol of suburban normalcy, now stood as a testament to the decay wrought by tragedy. Gavin had grown up here, played in that yard, unknowing of the future that would claw away his innocence and replace it with rage.

Morgan led Derik across the unkempt lawn, the night air thick with tension. They reached the porch where shadows played tricks on their eyes, and Morgan's hand hovered over her holster, ready for any eventuality. She banged on the door and shouted, “FBI.”

At first, there was only silence. The sound of the wind. Morgan was sure no one would answer, that he was hiding in there like a coward.

But then, the door creaked open, revealing Gavin Merritt. His attempt at casualness was betrayed by the tightness around his eyes and the slight tremor in his hands. "Oh, hello," he said, his voice steady despite the undercurrent of anxiety. "What brings you here so late?"

"May we come in?" Morgan asked, her tone measured but assertive.

"Of course," Gavin acquiesced, stepping aside to grant them entry.

The interior of the house felt like a mausoleum, cold and still. The walls were lined with frames, each capturing moments frozen in time—smiling parents, a younger Gavin, and a child with bright eyes, all gone now except for the man who stood before them. The silence hung heavy, filled with the unspoken grief of a family annihilated.

"Nice pictures," Derik commented, though his eyes remained vigilant.

"Thank you," Gavin replied, though his gaze didn't linger on the memories encased in glass.

Morgan cut to the chase. "We need to talk about Lara Quentin," she stated, watching Gavin's face for any flicker of reaction.

His expression tensed subtly, then smoothed into a mask of detachment. "I heard about the accident, a colleague called me. Terrible thing to happen to someone so young… and she was my friend, too. I don’t know how I’ll go on without her, you know?”

"Except Lara isn't dead," Morgan countered sharply, her eyes never leaving his face.

Gavin's facade faltered for a moment before he regained control. "Isn't she? My mistake." His voice was flat, too controlled.

"Curious mistake to make," Morgan pressed, stepping closer. "Why would you think she was dead?"

Gavin's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, the first real sign of the fear gnawing at him from within. "Just rumors, I guess. You know how people talk," he deflected, but his body language screamed otherwise.

Morgan's instincts hummed with alertness, her every sense tuned to the man before her. She'd witnessed enough liars to recognize one standing right in front of her.

"Rumors, huh?" Derik chimed in, his tone skeptical. "Seems like more than just rumors are floating around these days."

Gavin's calm veneer shattered like thin ice under the weight of Morgan's stare. Panic flickered in his eyes, a wild animal caught in a trap, as realization dawned on him. The atmosphere, already tense, became electrified with the charge of imminent danger. Gavin's fear metastasized into desperate aggression, his body coiling like a spring.

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