Page 35 of For Mercy

"Didn't even call for help," Derik added, flipping through the case details with a frustration that echoed Morgan's own.His voice held a note of disgust, a sentiment that clashed with the typically unflappable demeanor of his professional façade.

The family of the deceased had sought justice, their grief channeled into a lawsuit that accused Knox of failing to fulfill a moral responsibility that any decent human being would shoulder instinctively.But the law had no room for morality; it was cold, clinical.It stated that Knox had no duty to act, and the judge had concurred.Their case crumbled, and Knox walked free, untouched by the tragedy she'd dismissed with a callous gait.

"Law is one thing, humanity another," Morgan muttered, her words barely audible as they were absorbed by the thick carpet beneath her feet.She stared at the photographs and reports scattered across the table, each one a fragment of a puzzle that was slowly aligning itself within her weary mind.

"Exactly," Derik responded, sensing Morgan's train of thought."It's not about whether it was legal.It's about whether it was right."

A sharp edge of clarity cut through Morgan's exhaustion.She knew too well how the tendrils of corruption could strangle justice, how the law could be manipulated and contorted until it served only those with the power to bend it.Her past, the years stolen from her by the very institution she served, had taught her the bitter lesson that justice and legality often traveled divergent paths.And now, it seemed, someone else understood that too—someone who dealt punishment where the law had failed.

"Derik," she said, her voice hoarse but resolute, "we're looking at someone who's not just killing.They're sending a message.We need to find out what message Hawthorne sent...or didn't."

Morgan's spine snapped to attention, her physiology betraying the fatigue that had clawed at her for hours.The room spun briefly as she sat up straighter, the weak morning light doing nothing to ease the shadows beneath her eyes.Her hands, adorned with traces of ink from years past, trembled faintly as her pulse quickened.It was a visceral reaction to an unspoken truth that gnawed at her conscience.Knox had passed by a dying man, her indifference as lethal as any weapon.It wasn't about what was legal.It was about what was right.And Hawthorne?

Her gaze swept across the table, coming to rest on another file, one that bore the name Sarah Reeves.The secretary-turned-law-clerk who had found peace—or so it seemed—in the embrace of death; a last resort to silence her despair.Morgan had initially dismissed Sarah's demise as a tragic coincidence, a thread dangling with no clear end in sight.But now, doubt crept into the crevices of her certainty, seeping through like water through cracked concrete.

The case file sat there, a silent testament to a life extinguished prematurely.As Morgan scanned the details once more, the facts danced mockingly before her.She could feel the walls of her resolve being chipped away with each sentence she reread.The suicide note, the meticulously arranged belongings, the untroubled history—all elements of a narrative she had categorized as irrelevant.

But something clawed at the back of her mind, insistent and impossible to ignore.Could she have been too quick to dismiss the significance of Sarah's death?If the killer's motive was rooted in moral judgment, retribution for sins not paid in the eyes of the law, then perhaps Sarah Reeves had been more than a casualty of her own war.Perhaps she had been a statement, a prologue to a series of orchestrated condemnations.

This new realization was a puzzle piece that Morgan hadn’t even known she was missing.Yet here it was, fitting snuggly into place, making the image clearer, sharper, more horrifying.There was a pattern emerging, one that suggested a killer moving through a list of selected targets—not at random, but with deliberate intent.A vigilante who had taken upon themselves to be judge, jury, and executioner.

"Derik," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, yet heavy with implication, "what if Hawthorne ignored Sarah's cries for help, just as Knox did with that man?"She felt the weight of her own words settle in the room.

Derik turned his eyes away from the documents, their contents now secondary to the gravity in Morgan’s tone.He knew that look, the one where her instincts were piecing together a larger, more sinister picture.

"Could be," he admitted, his brow furrowing."We can't rule it out.Not with a pattern emerging."

The silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the quiet hum of fluorescent lights above.

A killer haunting the moral fringes, punishing those who had transgressed an unwritten code of ethics—it made a twisted kind of sense.Sarah Reeves's suicide, once a sorrowful footnote in Hawthorne's career, now glimmered with potential significance.It was a lead that demanded exploration, a path that could unravel the enigma of these calculated deaths.

"Sarah's family," Morgan said decisively, the fatigue that clung to her frame cast aside by the surge of adrenaline."We need to talk to them."Her dark eyes locked onto Derik's, conveying an urgency that needed no further explanation.

"Let's do it," Derik agreed, standing up, ready to follow Morgan's lead.

Their journey would take them into the heart of Sarah's past, sifting through memories and secrets in search of the truth.There, they hoped to find the catalyst that sparked this lethal chain of events—to understand why Sarah died and to prevent the killer from exacting their brand of retribution on anyone else.Somewhere amidst the threads of Sarah's life lay the answer to the riddle that now consumed Morgan Cross, and she wouldn't rest until it was uncovered.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The pale morning sun cast an accusatory glare over the suburban landscape, as if nature itself was passing judgment on the secrets buried within these cookie-cutter homes.Morgan squinted against the harsh light, her eyes tracing the outline of Darren Reeves' modest house.It was unremarkable, save for the invisible weight of grief that seemed to hang over it like a shroud.

She glanced at Derik, noting the tension in his jaw.He'd been quiet on the drive over, and she knew he was still smarting from being shut out of her plans.But this wasn't the time to address that.They had a job to do.

"You ready?"she asked, her voice low.

Derik nodded, his green eyes meeting hers briefly before flicking away."Let's do this."

The sound of approaching footsteps from within the house pulled her from her thoughts.She straightened, adopting the professional demeanor that had become second nature since her return to the Bureau.

The door swung open, revealing a man who looked like he'd aged a decade in a year.Darren Reeves stood before them, his face a map of sorrow.Dark circles ringed his hollow eyes, and his skin had a sickly pallor that spoke of sleepless nights and relentless grief.

Morgan felt a twinge of empathy, quickly suppressed.She couldn't afford to let emotion cloud her judgment.Not when they were so close to unraveling this case.

"Mr.Reeves?"she said, her tone carefully modulated."I'm Agent Cross, and this is Agent Greene.We'd like to ask you a few questions about your sister, Sarah."

Darren's eyes widened slightly at the mention of Sarah's name, a flicker of pain crossing his features before he schooled them into a wary mask."Why?"he asked, his voice rough with disuse."It's been a year.Why are you here now?"

Morgan hesitated, weighing her words carefully.How much should she reveal?How much did Darren already know?She thought of Sarah's picture, smiling and full of life, contrasted with the broken man before her.The truth, she decided.Or at least, part of it.

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