Page 3 of For Blood

"I'm going alone from here," she said, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions roiling inside her.

Derik's reaction was immediate and fierce."The hell you are," he snapped, his green eyes flashing with concern and frustration."We're in the middle of nowhere, Morgan.What if something happens?Reception could be crap out here—"

"I can handle it," Morgan interrupted, her tone firm but not unkind.She understood his worry, appreciated it even, but this was something she needed to do on her own."I'm an FBI agent, remember?I've got my gun.If it's a trap, I'll deal with it.But I need to do this alone."

As she spoke, Morgan's free hand unconsciously traced the outline of her gun beneath her jacket.The weight of it was reassuring, grounding her in the present even as memories of the past threatened to overwhelm her.

She looked at Derik, really looked at him, taking in the worry lines etched around his eyes, the tension in his jaw.A pang of guilt shot through her.How many times had she shut him out like this?But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew she couldn't change course now.

"This is about more than just meeting my father," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper."It's about facing my past, all of it.The good and the bad.I need to do this on my own terms, Derik.Can you understand that?"

Derik's green eyes locked with hers, a storm of emotions swirling within them.He exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging in reluctant acceptance."Fine," he conceded, his voice gruff with concern."But I'm not going anywhere.I'll wait right here.You call me the second something feels off, got it?"

Morgan's lips curved into a faint smile, warmth blooming in her chest despite the tension of the moment."Got it," she replied, her voice soft with gratitude.

She stepped out of the truck, the crisp morning air wrapping around her like a chilly embrace.As she shut the door behind her, the woods seemed to close in, both familiar and strange.The weight of her past and the uncertainty of what lay ahead pressed down on her shoulders.

Taking a deep breath, Morgan started down the old trail, her boots crunching softly on the leaf-strewn ground.With each step, memories flooded back, as vivid and visceral as if they'd happened yesterday.The laughter she'd shared with her father echoed in her mind, a bittersweet reminder of simpler times.

"Listen,"she could almost hear him say, his voice a ghostly whisper on the breeze."Hear that?That's a deer moving through the brush."

Morgan paused, closing her eyes and focusing her senses as he'd taught her all those years ago.The forest was alive with subtle sounds – the rustle of leaves, the distant call of a bird, the soft scurrying of unseen creatures.

"I remember, Dad," she murmured to herself, a lump forming in her throat."I remember everything."

As she pressed on, the trail seemed to guide her feet almost of its own accord.It was as if her body remembered the way, even after all these years.But with each familiar landmark, a nagging doubt grew stronger in her mind.

Who were you really, Dad?she thought, her brow furrowing.An FBI agent working under Richard Cordell?The man who shot Mary Price, Thomas’s mother?Your own lover?The father who taught me to track deer and fish for trout?Or something else entirely?

The questions swirled in her mind, mixing with the memories of that fateful hunting trip.She could almost feel the sharp pain in her ankle again, hear her own childish cries echoing through the trees.The memory, once treasured, now felt tainted by the weight of secrets and lies.

Morgan pressed on, her determination growing with each step.Whatever the truth might be, whatever her father's reasons for reaching out now, she was going to face everything head-on.She was no longer that little girl in the woods.She was Morgan Cross, survivor, fighter, and seeker of truth.

The forest enveloped Morgan in its eerie stillness, broken only by the crunch of leaves beneath her sturdy boots and the occasional mournful caw of a distant crow.Her heart raced as her eyes locked onto a familiar sight—a gnarled root jutting out from the earth, its twisted form a stark reminder of childhood pain and newfound uncertainty.

"This is it," Morgan whispered, her breath catching in her throat.She approached the root slowly, each step deliberate, as if the ground might give way beneath her.Her hands trembled slightly as she crouched down, running her fingers along the weathered bark.

Memories flooded back—the searing pain in her ankle, her father's strong arms carrying her through the woods, his gentle voice soothing her tears.But now, those memories were tinged with doubt and betrayal.

Morgan stood, her eyes scanning the surrounding trees.The shadows seemed to shift and dance, playing tricks on her senses.Was that movement just the wind, or something more?

"Dad?"she called out, her voice trembling slightly."Are you here?"

The only response was the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.Morgan's heart sank, but she steeled herself, calling out again, this time with more force.

"Dad!I'm here!"Her voice echoed through the trees."If this is some kind of joke, it's not funny!"

Silence.No movement.Just the endless, oppressive stillness of the woods.

Morgan's mind raced.Was this all for nothing?Had she been fooled, lured out here on false pretenses?Or was her father watching her right now, weighing whether to reveal himself?

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.The scent of pine and damp earth filled her nostrils, grounding her.When she opened them again, her gaze was sharp, alert.

"Okay, Dad," she said, her voice low but firm."If you're out there, listening...I need answers.You owe me that much.Why now?Why bring me back here, to this place?"

Morgan's hand instinctively moved to her hip, where her service weapon rested.The weight of it was reassuring, a reminder of who she was now—not a helpless child, but a trained FBI agent.

"I'm not leaving until I get some answers," she declared to the silent forest."So either show yourself, or..."She trailed off, unsure of how to finish the threat.What could she do, really, against a ghost?

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