Page 35 of For Fear

As he stood over her unconscious form, he felt a flicker of something unfamiliar in his chest. Not regret, not exactly. But a sense of unease, a questioning of his purpose.

Tara had been fighting her way back to greatness, reclaiming the gift she had once squandered. Did she truly deserve the fate he had planned for her? Was he really the arbiter of justice he had believed himself to be?

He shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. There was no time for doubts, no room for second-guessing. He had a job to do, a mission to complete.

Quickly, efficiently, he set about staging the scene, erasing any trace of his presence. He worked with the practiced ease of a man who had done this many times before, his movements methodical, almost mechanical.

But even as he went through the familiar motions, he couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted, that the certainties he had once clung to were crumbling beneath his feet.

As he slipped out of the apartment, leaving Tara's unconscious form behind, he knew that this night would haunt him, that the questions it had raised would linger long after the deed was done.

He had come to end a life, to punish a wasted talent. But instead, he found himself questioning the very foundation of his beliefs, the righteousness of his cause.

In the silence of the night, he melted back into the shadows, his mind whirling, his heart heavy with the weight of what he had done, and what he had yet to do. The game had changed, and he wasn't sure he knew the rules anymore.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Dahlia Maddox's fingers rapped against the metal interrogation table, sharp nails clicking rhythmically in the cold silence of the room. Her eyes, steel grey and unblinking, fixed on the one-way glass before her. She knew they were watching.

Morgan peered through the window, studying the talent agent's severe features cast in stark shadows under the glaring fluorescent lights. Dahlia's arms were crossed tightly, her shoulders taut with a barely contained fury. But there was something else there, flickering beneath the surface. Fear. Desperation. Secrets are itching to break free.

"She's hiding something," Morgan muttered, her gaze never leaving Dahlia.

Beside her, Derik sighed, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw. "Dahlia's not going to crack easily. She practically has manipulation down to an art form, especially with those kids she represents."

Morgan's jaw clenched. She knew Dahlia's type all too well - the kind that thrived on control, on bending others to their will until they snapped. Her own ten years behind bars, framed for a crime she didn't commit, had taught her the true face of power-hungry manipulators.

"We have to find her breaking point," Morgan said quietly, the old anger simmering in her gut. "Whatever she's keeping buried, I'm going to dig it up. Even if I have to carve it out of her."

Derik's green eyes slid to hers, worry creasing his brow. "Just be careful, Morgan. Pushing too hard, too fast...she might shut down completely."

A smile tugged at Morgan's lips, sharp and mirthless. "Oh, I'll find that line. And then I'll obliterate it."

She reached for the door handle, the cold metal biting into her tattooed skin. Revenge still burned like a wildfire in her blood, Richard Cordell's face forever seared into her memory. But first, she had a job to do. And heaven help anyone who stood in her way.

With a resolute twist of the handle, Morgan stepped into the interrogation room, Derik a silent sentinel at her back. It was time to unearth Dahlia Maddox's secrets - by any means necessary.

The metal door swung open with a heavy clang, shattering the tense silence. Morgan strode inside, her boots thudding against the concrete floor, Derik's imposing presence flanking her.

Dahlia's head snapped up, her icy blue eyes narrowing to slits as they approached. She straightened in the hard metal chair, squaring her shoulders, her red-painted nails curling into her palms. A defiant smirk twisted her lips, as if to say, 'Give it your best shot. You won't break me.'

Morgan almost laughed. If this woman thought she could intimidate her with a little posturing, she was in for a rude awakening. Prison had scraped Morgan raw, and built her back up into steel.

She slid into the seat across from Dahlia, locking eyes with her, unflinching under that glacial stare. Derik took up position in the corner, a looming specter, coiled and ready. The air crackled with tension, thick enough to choke on.

Morgan leaned back, casual, letting the silence stretch. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm and even. Deceptively gentle. "Lila Sanchez and Evan Rhodes. Tell me about them."

Dahlia's gaze flicked away, just for a second. Her smirk tightened. "Who?" she asked coolly.

"Two of your former prodigies. Lila, the violinist. And Evan, the tech whiz." Morgan tilted her head, studying Dahlia's too-smooth expression. "Ring any bells? Before the drugs swallowed them whole, that is."

Dahlia examined her nails, feigning boredom. "I've fostered the talents of countless children over the years, Agent Cross. You can't expect me to remember every single one."

Morgan smiled, razor-sharp. "Ah, but I think you do remember them, Dahlia. Intimately. Right down to how they took their coffee and what shampoo they used." She leaned forward, her elbows braced on the table. "See, control is your drug of choice. And you can never forget an addict who dared to slip out of your grasp."

Dahlia stiffened, her nostrils flaring. For a moment, Morgan glimpsed the fury simmering beneath the mask, raw and ugly.

"Lila and Evan," Morgan pressed, her voice deceptively soft. "Two brilliant souls, crushed under the weight of your impossible expectations. Tell me, Dahlia, what happened when they failed to meet your standards? When they dared to be human?"

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