Page 48 of For Silence

Morgan's fist connected with Gavin's jaw, a satisfying crack splitting the air as he staggered backward. She didn't bask in the moment; there was no time. His back hit the wall with a thud, the impact rattling the framed pictures of a happier past that hung crookedly there. He lunged forward again, but Morgan was ready—years of training and nights filled with the echoes of her prison cell had honed her reflexes to a razor's edge.

"Enough, Gavin," she breathed, ducking beneath his wild swing and driving her elbow into his midsection. The blow forced the air from his lungs, and for a moment, his eyes widened with shock rather than fury. It was all Morgan needed. With a swift move, she swept his legs out from under him, his body thudding against the carpet.

Gavin tried to rise, but Morgan was already upon him, pinning him with her knee pressed against his back, her hands wrenching his arms behind him. Her breath came in ragged gasps, yet her grip was unyielding. "It's over," she declared, the weight of her authority as heavy as the handcuffs she clicked onto his wrists one by one.

Secured, Gavin ceased struggling, his chest heaving against the floor. Morgan stood slowly, her muscles protesting after the fierce battle. The room was silent except for their labored breathing—a stark contrast to the chaos that had reigned just moments before. She stepped back, surveying the man who lay defeated before her. This was the endgame, her chase culminating in this final, bitter victory.

Her eyes flitted around the room, resting on the torn teddy bear, its stuffing spilling out like the innocence lost in this twisted vendetta. Morgan's heart clenched; she could almost hear the echo of children's laughter that once filled this space, now replaced by the ghosts of vengeance.

"Frankie deserved better than this," she whispered, not sure if she was speaking to Gavin or reminding herself of the stakes that had driven them both to this point. "You both did."

“You know nothing,” Gavin said. “Frankie was my brother. My responsibility. And they took him from me!”

His voice echoed through the room, filling it with the raw pain of his loss. But beneath the anguish and grief, there was a hint of something else—regret, perhaps, or guilt.

“The system failed him… it needs to be rewritten. Those people I killed—they were all corrupt.”

"They might have been," Morgan conceded, a bitter edge to her words. "But you're no better than them. You’re much worse, Gavin. You don’t get to decide who lives or dies.”

"Those weren't innocents!" Gavin spat back, a snarl contorting his youthful face. "They were part of a system that destroyed us!"

Morgan sighed heavily, shaking her head. "Being part of a flawed system doesn't make one

evil, Gavin. What about those they left behind? Their families, their children? Just like Frankie, they're victims too." Her voice was steady and clear despite her fatigue. "You had a chance to expose the corruption. Instead, you became part of it."

Gavin craned his neck to look at Morgan, his eyes now devoid of the fiery rage that fuelled him before. The silence between them throbbed with unspoken words. "I did what I had to," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"No," Morgan said, meeting his gaze with an unwavering stare. "You did what you wanted. And now you’re going to jail.”

She turned away from the shattered remnants of a childhood long gone, signaling the officers who rushed in at her call. As they took Gavin into custody, Morgan lingered for a moment longer, the image of the ripped teddy bear imprinting itself in her memory.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Morgan stepped into the bustling FBI headquarters, her muscles aching with the kind of fatigue that only comes from a night spent outsmarting death. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting long, clean shadows over the polished floors—a sharp contrast to the grim darkness where they had finally cornered Gavin Merritt. Derik walked beside her, his presence a silent reassurance.

Heads turned as they passed, eyes filled with a mixture of respect and something akin to awe. The chaos of the previous night—the fear, the adrenaline, the sheer determination it took to apprehend a killer—had already morphed into office legend. Morgan kept her expression unreadable, but she couldn't ignore the small surge of pride. They had done it; they had stopped a man on a twisted quest for vengeance before he could strike again.

Assistant Director Mueller broke away from a cluster of agents, his approach signaling the unofficial debriefing they both knew was coming. He was a tall, imposing figure, the lines on his face etched by years of service and authority. Today, though, his usual stern demeanor softened just enough to let genuine admiration show through.

"Job well done," he said, shaking their hands with a firm grip that spoke more than his words ever could. "You both did excellent work apprehending Gavin Merritt." His voice carried the weight of experience, acknowledgment from a man who understood the cost of their victory better than most.

"Thank you, sir," Morgan replied, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions. It wasn't just about catching Merritt. It was about proving herself, about reclaiming a piece of the identity that had been tarnished by false accusations and a past that refused to stay buried.

Mueller gave them a nod, as if he recognized the unspoken thoughts. The approval of their colleagues, the subtle shift in regard within the ranks—it was all part of the dance they did, a delicate balance between duty and personal redemption. For now, they were on solid ground, but Morgan knew all too well how quickly the sands could shift beneath her feet.

She caught Derik's eye, and they shared a moment of silent communication that needed no translation. Exhaustion clung to them like a second skin, but beneath it was the undeniable relief of having made it through the fire, together.

The assistant director moved on, leaving them amidst the hum of activity that never really ceased within these walls. Morgan felt the weight of the badge on her hip, a reminder of the oath she'd taken and the path that lay ahead. She was an agent, yes, but she was also a woman forged by adversity, driven by a need for justice that went deeper than any case file could capture.

Today, they were heroes. Tomorrow, the fight would begin anew. But for now, Morgan allowed herself to breathe, to feel the satisfaction of a job well done wash over her, even if only for a fleeting moment.

Morgan's gaze met Derik's across the bustling sea of desks and monitors; both sets of eyes held a storm that had nothing to do with triumph, and everything to do with survival. As if on cue, Derik’s hand rose, his fingers lightly tracing the stark white of the bandage wrapped around his head—a beacon of their recent clash with death.

"Hey," she called out softly, her voice steady despite the chaos of last night still echoing in her mind.

"Hey," he replied, offering a half-smile that didn't quite reach his green eyes. His gesture was subtle, but it spoke volumes of the violence they'd endured, the close calls that were now etched into their bones.

Assistant Director Mueller's frame loomed into view, his shadow casting over their shared moment. Concern furrowed his brow as he observed Derik's wound. "That looks serious, Greene. You might want to get that checked out again."

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