The feeling of being watched wasn't unfamiliar to Y/n. She had spent years immersed in the world of criminal psychology, always aware of the subtle nuances in behavior, the signs that someone was hiding something. But this? This felt different.

There was a palpable weight to the air when she was near Dexter, an unspoken tension that she couldn't ignore. He had a way of looking at her—like he was searching for cracks in her facade, just as she was searching for his.

Tonight, the precinct was quieter than usual. Most of the detectives had wrapped up their work for the day, but Y/n remained, sitting at her desk, the cold blue light of her computer screen casting shadows across her face.

The door to the bullpen opened, and she didn't even have to look up to know who it was.

Dexter's footsteps were soft, measured. Calm.

"I thought you left for the night," he said, his voice smooth as ever.

Y/n's eyes flickered to his for a brief moment. "I had some things to finish." She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "You?"

Dexter smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Same. Seems like the case is keeping us both up."

Y/n's gaze lingered on him, trying to read between the lines of his words. His face was perfectly neutral, but she could sense the underlying tension—just beneath the surface, the faintest flicker of something darker.

For a moment, they stood there in silence, neither of them speaking.

And then Dexter broke the quiet. "You know, you're getting closer."

Her heart skipped a beat. "Closer to what?"

Dexter's smile curled just slightly at the edges. "To understanding me."

Y/n's pulse quickened. She didn't show it, of course—she couldn't afford to. But his words sent a chill down her spine. He wasn't just talking about the case. He was talking about them.

"I don't know what you mean," she said coolly, turning her attention back to the case file in front of her.

But Dexter didn't move. Instead, his gaze lingered on her, and she could feel the weight of it, pressing down on her like an invisible hand.

"You're good at what you do," he said softly. "But I think you're looking for the wrong things."

Y/n narrowed her eyes. "And what do you think I should be looking for?"

Dexter stepped closer, his presence suddenly filling the space between them. "The truth."

The words hung in the air, thick with meaning.

And for the first time, Y/n felt like she was on the edge of something she couldn't control—like the game had shifted, and now she was the one being hunted.

She held his gaze, her breath steady despite the rising tension. "What if I find it?"

Dexter's eyes darkened, and for a brief moment, the calm mask slipped. "Then you'll have to decide what to do with it."

The air between them crackled with electricity, the unspoken words hanging in the space between them. Y/n knew what she had to do—keep pushing, keep digging. But now, there was a part of her that wondered if she was getting too close to the edge.

What if she wasn't just chasing a killer? What if she was becoming part of the story?

And would she be able to walk away when she discovered the truth?