The days had become a blur.

The case had a way of consuming everything, pulling Y/n deeper into its grasp, but there was something else—something dangerous—that kept drawing her back to Dexter. Every conversation, every exchange, seemed to dance around truths neither of them was willing to face. But she could feel the walls closing in.

The killer's confidence had escalated to a point where it was almost as if he wanted to be found. He was leaving taunts—clues that were more like invitations to the dance. And Y/n was certain, more than ever, that he wasn't just killing at random. He was playing a game with her.

With them.

It was late one evening when Y/n found herself again sitting across from Dexter, this time in his lab, the familiar smell of chemicals and disinfectant hanging in the air. The tension between them was so thick it was almost tangible.

He was working with the latest set of evidence, his hands moving methodically as he processed the files. But there was a certain sharpness to his movements now, as if he were too aware of her presence.

"Any new leads?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral.

Dexter looked up briefly, his eyes momentarily locking with hers. There was something in that gaze—something that made her heart race and her breath hitch.

"No new leads," he replied calmly. "But the killer is becoming more... deliberate."

"Deliberate?" Y/n repeated, frowning. "How do you mean?"

Dexter placed a photo in front of her, one she had seen before, but now, it held a different weight. A victim, carefully staged—again—but something about the position of the body caught her attention.

"Look at the angle of the arms," Dexter said, pointing to the photo. "The body is almost like a mirror image of the first victim, but with subtle differences. The killer is evolving, adapting. And that means he's becoming more confident, more calculating."

Y/n studied the photo, the faintest trace of realization dawning on her. "So he's not just trying to send a message... he's preparing for something bigger."

Dexter's gaze didn't waver. "Exactly."

For a moment, the air between them felt electric, as if they were both standing on the edge of something they couldn't take back. Y/n wanted to ask him more—about his theory, about what he thought the killer was really after—but she couldn't shake the feeling that the real question was not about the case anymore.

It was about him.

She set the photo down and leaned forward slightly. "You know, you're not like the other people I've worked with, Dexter."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but hiding it behind his usual calm demeanor. "How so?"

"Most people hide behind their work," she said softly. "They're trying to bury their demons. But you... you don't seem to be hiding anything."

Dexter's expression was unreadable for a heartbeat. Then, he smiled—a thin, knowing smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Maybe I've just learned how to keep them in check."

Y/n couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he wasn't telling her, something deeper that he was carefully hiding behind his practiced calm. She leaned back in her chair, taking a deep breath.

"What are you afraid of, Dexter?" she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

For a second, Dexter froze. Then, as quickly as it came, the moment passed, and he was back to his usual self. "Afraid? I don't get afraid."

His response was so immediate, so rehearsed, that Y/n didn't buy it for a second. She pressed on, not willing to let it go. "Everyone's afraid of something. So, what's yours?"

Dexter's eyes narrowed slightly, the flicker of something darker briefly crossing his face. "You ask a lot of personal questions for someone who doesn't want answers."

Her heart skipped a beat at the sharpness in his voice, but she didn't back down. "I'm asking because I think you've been hiding something much bigger than a serial killer."

For a long moment, Dexter didn't speak. It was as if he were deciding whether or not to let her in, and in that silence, Y/n realized something—she wasn't sure she was ready for the truth.

Finally, Dexter broke the silence, his voice low, almost too calm. "What if I told you you're getting too close?"

Y/n swallowed, her breath catching in her throat. She stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in.

She was getting too close.

To the case.

To him.

And she didn't know if she was ready for what came next.