The Miami sun was relentless, pressing down like an oppressive weight. The heat clung to Y/n Álvarez's skin as she stepped into the cool, sterile air of the Miami Metro Police Department. The scent of burnt coffee, printer ink, and something vaguely metallic filled her lungs as she adjusted the strap of her bag.

"Dr. Álvarez, welcome." A voice greeted her as she entered the bullpen.

She turned to see Lieutenant María LaGuerta approaching, her heels clicking against the linoleum. LaGuerta extended a hand with a practiced smile, her sharp eyes scanning Y/n as if already assessing her worth.

"It's a pleasure, Lieutenant," Y/n said, shaking her hand firmly. "I appreciate the opportunity."

"We're glad to have you. A forensic psychologist of your caliber—well, let's just say, it's about time we had someone who understands the minds of these criminals before they strike again." LaGuerta led her toward the desks, weaving past detectives and officers who barely spared Y/n a glance. "You'll be working closely with our Homicide team. You'll meet Debra Morgan, Sergeant Batista, and—"

LaGuerta stopped abruptly, her gaze shifting to a man standing at the far end of the bullpen. He was focused on something at his desk, his back to them. He looked ordinary at first glance—brown hair, light blue shirt, average build—but there was something meticulous in the way he moved, in the way he existed. He radiated a stillness that didn't quite match the hum of life around him.

"And, of course, Dexter Morgan. Our blood spatter analyst," LaGuerta continued.

At the sound of his name, Dexter turned. His expression was unreadable at first, then softened into something that mimicked polite curiosity. He was good at blending in. Too good.

Their eyes met.

Y/n had spent years studying human behavior, dissecting the way people moved, spoke, and lied. But Dexter? He was... blank. Not nervous, not indifferent—just empty, like a canvas waiting to be painted.

Interesting.

"Dexter," LaGuerta called, gesturing for him to come over. "This is Dr. Y/n Álvarez, our new forensic psychologist."

Dexter approached with smooth, deliberate steps. He extended a hand, his grip just firm enough to feel practiced.

"Dexter Morgan," he said with a small, polite smile. "Welcome to the madhouse."

His voice was even, controlled. Another mask.

Y/n held his gaze, her own expression unreadable. "Dr. Y/n Álvarez," she replied, shaking his hand. His skin was cool against hers. "And I like madhouses. Makes my job easier."

Something flickered in Dexter's eyes. Amusement? Intrigue? It was gone before she could decipher it.

"Good to know," he said, withdrawing his hand. "I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

"Oh, I'm counting on it," Y/n murmured, watching as he turned back to his desk.

Dexter Morgan.

She wasn't sure what he was yet, but she had a feeling he'd be her most interesting case.