Y/n Álvarez had spent years studying the minds of killers, peeling back the layers of their personas to expose the truth beneath. She had seen the chaos in their eyes, the telltale cracks in their masks. But Dexter Morgan?

He was different.

She sat at her desk, reviewing cold case files when a shadow fell over her workspace. Looking up, she found Dexter standing there, holding two cups of coffee.

"Figured you might need one," he said, offering her a cup. His voice was friendly, casual—just like any normal coworker.

Y/n arched a brow, accepting the coffee. "Are you always this generous, or are you trying to get on my good side?"

Dexter chuckled, taking a seat across from her. "Maybe a little of both. But mostly, I was curious about you."

"Curious?" She sipped the coffee, watching him over the rim. "About what?"

Dexter leaned back slightly, expression unreadable. "You analyze criminals for a living. What made you want to do that?"

Y/n hesitated for just a fraction of a second, but she knew better than to let her mask slip. "People interest me. Especially the ones society considers broken."

Dexter tilted his head, intrigued. "And do you think they're all broken? Or do some just... function differently?"

Y/n studied him, feeling the weight behind his question. She had spent her career profiling criminals, but this was the first time she felt like she was being profiled.

"It depends," she said finally. "Some people are just violent, impulsive, driven by urges they can't control. Others? They have a code—a system they follow, justifying what they do. Those are the ones that fascinate me."

Dexter's lips curled into the faintest smile. "Sounds like you've met a few of them."

"You could say that." Y/n set her cup down, fingers tapping lightly against the desk. "There was one case... A man who only targeted other criminals. He justified every kill, convinced he was delivering justice where the system failed."

Dexter's heartbeat remained steady, but something in his eyes darkened. "And what happened to him?"

Y/n's expression didn't change. "He slipped through the cracks. No concrete evidence, no clear motive—just a string of dead bodies with nothing tying them together."

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Dexter smiled. "Sounds like he was careful."

Y/n met his gaze, unblinking. "Yes. Very careful."

For the first time since she arrived, she saw it—the flicker of something beneath his mask. Not fear. Not guilt.

Recognition.

She had seen this game played before