Page 37 of For Fear

As they reentered the interrogation room, Dahlia's narrowed eyes met them. Her mask was back on, cool and composed as a marble statue. But fractures were already running through her façade, thin cracks that had been largely ignored until now.

Morgan took a seat opposite Dahlia once more, conserving her stern gaze for the woman across the table. "Dahlia, we understand you’re feeling attacked," she began, softening her voice with a practiced ease. "It’s nothing personal. We're just trying to find out what happened to those people."

"I've already told you," Dahlia snapped, every word dripping with defensiveness. "I've done nothing wrong."

"But maybe you've seen something suspicious, noticed something that felt off?" Derik suggested from where he was standing against the wall. His tone was conciliatory, coaxing even. “Maybe you can think of someone who might match the profile of our killer—a prodigy who fell from grace. Or you might be able to identify a future victim who fits that profile.”

Dahlia paused at his words, her gaze flicking uncertainly between Morgan and Derik. For a moment, it seemed as if she might actually consider cooperating.

Then, the defiance returned to her eyes. “You don’t understand,” she snapped, “My program is not a petri dish for some psychopath. My students are vulnerable, yes, but they’re not prone to... violence.”

Morgan leaned back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest. “We’re not saying that they are,” she said evenly, trying hard to retain her patience. “We’re just trying to findconnections, patterns that might lead us to whoever’s doing this.”

Dahlia gave a curt nod, clearly reluctant to agree but seeing the logic in Morgan’s words. “Fine,” she conceded, albeit begrudgingly, “I’ll provide you the names of my current and former students who I think could potentially match the profile you’ve described.”

It was not an admission of guilt, but it was a start—one that Morgan intended to take full advantage of.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Awareness seeped back slowly, like light filtering through a thick fog. Tara blinked, her eyelids heavy, as a throbbing ache pulsed at the base of her skull. She tried to move, but her limbs refused to cooperate. Confused, she glanced down.

Thick ropes bit into the skin of her wrists and ankles, securing her arms behind the back of the chair she was sitting in. A wad of fabric filled her mouth, held in place by another strip of cloth tied tightly around her head. Tara's heart stuttered.

What the hell? She tugged at her bonds, panic rising in her chest as the ropes held fast. Where was she? How did she get here?

Tara squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember. She had been at home, in her apartment. Playing chess online, absorbed in the game, strategizing her next moves. And then...nothing. Just a flash of pain and inky blackness.

Until she woke up here. Tied up, defenseless, alone. Who had done this to her? Why?

Tara's breath came faster, adrenaline surging through her veins. She thrashed against the chair, ignoring the bite of the ropes, desperate to break free. A muffled whimper escaped around her gag.

Think, Tara told herself fiercely, straining to see anything in the dark room that could help her. There had to be a way out of this. She was smart, resourceful. She could figure this out.

But even as the thought formed, dread pooled in her stomach. Because deep down, Tara knew. Whatever twisted plan had led to her being tied up and silenced, helpless and afraid - she was completely at their mercy now. All she could do was wait in terror to find out what they wanted from her. And pray she survived it.

As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Tara realized with a sickening lurch that she wasn't alone after all. There, in the shadows across the room, the silhouette of a man sat watching her, perfectly still.

Tara froze, ice flooding her veins. He was here. Waiting for her.

The man leaned forward slightly, just enough for her to make out his face in the dim light. Ordinary, unremarkable features. A stranger. But the cold, predatory gleam in his eyes turned Tara's blood to ice.

"Hello, Tara," he said softly, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I'm so glad you're finally awake."

A whimper caught in Tara's throat. She stared at him in mute horror, her heart hammering against her ribs.

The man stood, every movement deliberate and unhurried. He took a step toward her, and Tara flinched, shrinking back against the chair.

"You must be wondering what's going on," he mused, circling closer. "Who I am, why you're here..." He paused, studying her, savoring the stark fear in her eyes. "Don't worry. We'll get to that. My name is Henry Adler."

Tara's mind raced desperately, trying to comprehend the nightmare she'd woken into. He'd targeted her, attacked her, tied her up. Planned all of this. But why? What could he possibly want from her?

The man stopped in front of her, too close, looming over her. Tara held herself utterly still, hardly daring to breathe.

"Oh, Tara," he sighed, almost sadly. "If you only knew what's in store for you..."

Tears burned Tara's eyes. She was completely at his mercy, and the cruel anticipation in his gaze promised only horror ahead. Tara had never felt so vulnerable, so afraid.

She had to get away, had to escape somehow. But the ropes bit into her flesh with brutal finality, and the man's cold, appraising stare pinned her in place as surely as the bonds.

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