The body was fresh.

A young woman, mid-twenties, lay sprawled across the damp pavement of an abandoned parking lot. Her limbs were carefully arranged, her eyes still open, fixed on something unseen. No blood splatter, no signs of struggle—just eerie, calculated precision.

Y/n crouched beside the body, gloved fingers ghosting over the cold skin. Something about the scene unsettled her, and that wasn't easy to do.

"This is the fourth one," Batista muttered beside her, arms crossed. "Same staging, same victim profile. This guy's getting comfortable."

Y/n studied the details. The victim's blouse was buttoned up perfectly, not a thread out of place. Her lips were slightly parted, as if she had been mid-sentence when death took her. The kill itself was almost... gentle.

"This isn't impulse," she murmured. "It's ritual. Every movement is deliberate, practiced."

"Sounds like someone who enjoys their work," Masuka added, crouching next to her. "I mean, not to be that guy, but... look at the symmetry. He's putting in effort."

Y/n nodded absently, already lost in thought. "He's comfortable because he hasn't been challenged yet. He's confident in his methods."

Dexter's voice cut through the conversation. "Or he doesn't think anyone will catch him."

Y/n turned her head slightly, watching him as he moved toward the body. He was calm, as always. Too calm.

He kneeled beside the victim, eyes scanning every detail, but Y/n wasn't looking at the body—she was looking at him.

Dexter was methodical, precise in the way he observed the scene. He didn't just see evidence; he understood it.

Almost as if he recognized it.

Their gazes met for a fleeting second, and Y/n could swear she saw something in his eyes—a spark of familiarity. Like he was reading a message meant only for him.

Y/n stood. "Whoever this is, they don't kill in a frenzy. There's no panic, no rush. They control the scene." She paused, tilting her head toward Dexter. "What do you think, Morgan?"

Dexter's smile was easy, effortless. "Sounds like a guy who has a code of his own."

The words lingered longer than they should