Y/n's dreams were darker now. They were filled with flashes of faces—victims and shadows, blurred but haunting. It was as if the line between the killer and the one trying to catch him had blurred. She couldn't shake the feeling that everything was leading her somewhere, but she wasn't sure where.

The case had escalated. With each new victim, the stakes rose. The killer's confidence grew, and so did the weight of his pattern. Y/n was getting closer, but she knew she couldn't do it alone.

She needed Dexter.

She needed to understand him, not just for the case, but for something else.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she walked into the precinct the next morning. The usual buzz of activity filled the air, but there was a sharp edge to it—an energy that was unmistakable. Y/n glanced around, immediately locking eyes with Dexter, who stood near the bulletin board, his back to her.

She didn't even have to ask. He had already noticed her, as he always did.

Dexter's eyes flicked over her for a moment, then he nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly. The signal.

They had been working together for weeks now, each silently acknowledging the unspoken tension that loomed between them. It wasn't just about the case anymore. It was about them, their connection, whatever strange bond had been forming in the shadows.

Y/n walked toward him, her pulse quickening despite herself. "Another victim." Her voice was low, measured.

Dexter didn't look surprised. "You're getting used to it."

"Getting used to it?" She raised an eyebrow. "Hardly."

He turned to face her fully, his expression unreadable. "You can't be in this line of work and not start compartmentalizing."

Y/n's eyes narrowed. "That's not what this is about, Dexter. This isn't just another case. You know that."

For a second, Dexter's gaze flickered with something—curiosity, perhaps. Or was it a challenge?

He crossed his arms, leaning against the bulletin board as if he was giving her the space to process. "You're right. It's not just another case. It's this case. And this case is getting personal, Dr. Álvarez."

Y/n's heart skipped. "What are you saying?"

He smiled, but it was a sharp, knowing grin. "I think you're beginning to realize that we're not just chasing a killer anymore. We're chasing something much deeper."

Y/n clenched her fists, willing herself to stay composed. "You think I'm looking for something personal? I'm looking for answers. For justice."

Dexter's eyes softened, but there was something unsettling in his gaze. "Maybe what you're looking for is a bit more complicated than that."

Y/n stared at him, her breath catching in her chest. For a moment, she wondered if he knew more than he was letting on. Was he playing her? Or had he become just as invested in this twisted dance as she had?

She took a step back, forcing herself to shake off the feeling that had crept into her thoughts. "The next victim..."

"Yes," Dexter interrupted, his voice steady. "We have a lead. But it's not going to be easy. This guy is getting bolder, more confident. He's making mistakes—small ones, but they're there."

Y/n nodded, her mind racing. "We need to get to him before he makes another one."

Dexter's expression darkened. "We will. But first, we need to keep our eyes open. The killer isn't just hiding in the shadows anymore. He's watching us."

Y/n didn't have to ask how he knew. She could feel it too. The game had shifted. The killer wasn't just hiding from the police anymore. He was stalking them.

She turned away, her heart pounding as she made her way to her desk. But even as she focused on the case files in front of her, her mind wandered back to Dexter—his words, his presence, the way he seemed to know exactly how to unravel her.

The truth was slipping through her fingers, and the closer she got to it, the more she realized she wasn't sure if she wanted to catch it.

Because the truth—Dexter—was something she might never be able to walk away from.