12

A re-opened cold case was brutal in its tragedy. A wealthy couple, Charlotte and Dean Morrison, murdered in their own mansion four years ago, no suspects ever charged, no clear motive ever nailed down.

Now, their two grown children, Justin and Bianca, sat stiff-backed across from Karadec and Oz in the interrogation room. Morgan, Selena, and Daphne watching and listening from outside, practically vibrating with the urgency to pin the crime on a distant aunt who had stayed loyal to the deceased couple all these years.

The brother did most of the talking, with the sister nodding fervently, interjecting now and then with curt agreements. Their theory seemed neat. Too neat. Every word they spoke had a pre-rehearsed edge, a feeling that gnawed at Morgan's mind like a dog with a bone.

After the interview, the siblings leaving with tight smiles and promises to "help in any way possible", the team was in silence, processing.

Morgan didn't say much. Instead, she twirled her pen between her fingers, standing, gaze distant, lips pressed into a hard line.

Karadec noticed immediately.

As the others dispersed to dig into background checks and old case files, he stay stood, watching her pace back and forth.

"You alright?" he asked, voice low enough that it wouldn't carry.

Morgan blinked, as if just realizing he was still there. She gave a tight smile but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Yeah. Fine. Just..." She exhaled, tapping her pen against the table. "It's bothering me. Their story fits too perfectly. It's like they're handing us a suspect on a silver platter, but my gut's telling me it's wrong. I want to crack this case so bad, but..." Her voice trailed off in frustration. "I feel like my brain's a clogged drain."

Karadec leaned on the wall, arms folded loosely. "You don't have to squeeze it out in one day," he said calmly. "We'll get there. Don't push yourself too hard."

Morgan gave him a look. Half grateful, half stubborn. "You know me. I don't do 'let it go' very well."

A ghost of a smile touched Karadec's lips. "Yeah. I know."

Later, just as the bullpen was winding down for the night, Lieutenant Soto reappeared, holding out thin folders to each of them.

"Assignments. Everyone takes a piece. I want progress reports by tomorrow noon."

Grumbling good-naturedly, the team accepted their tasks. Karadec packed up his assignment files, slipping them into his bag when Morgan appeared at his side, clutching her folder.

"Hey," she said, rocking slightly on her heels.

He looked up at her, eyebrows lifting. "What's up?"

"I'm coming with you," she declared.

Karadec paused, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "To... my apartment?"

"Yeah."

His brows furrowed slightly. "Morgan—"

"I'm not gonna be able to sleep," she said, cutting him off, her tone decisive. "This case is eating my brain. And maybe if we dig into it together like we did with the Lucas Phillips case, we'll actually get somewhere. You know we work better as a team."

Karadec hesitated. He hated the idea of her overworking herself, but he also knew better than anyone that once Morgan Gillory set her mind to something, there was no stopping her.

"You sure?" he asked. "You need rest too."

"I'll rest when the case stops screaming in my head," she said lightly. "Come on. You know you want my sparkling commentary while you're suffering through crime scene photos."

Karadec gave a low chuckle under his breath. "Fine. But don't blame me when you're running on two hours of sleep tomorrow."

"Deal."

His apartment was neat, almost spartan. Minimalist furniture, muted colors, a few expensive decorations tucked on shelves. It was exactly what Morgan had seen the first time she went there.

Karadec had let Morgan walk into his apartment first, then just as when he had quietly closed the door behind them, a soft ping broke the silence. He glanced at his phone. A message from Liana lit up the screen:

Dinner tonight? Hope you're free.

His thumb hovered for a moment, his face unreadable. Then, without much thought, he typed back:

Can't. Stuck at work. Sorry.

He slipped his phone back into his coat pocket, but not before Morgan glanced over her shoulder. She noticed he was still standing by the door, still and focused, like something had caught him mid-thought.

"Something wrong?" she asked, pausing by the dining table, her tone casual but observant.

Karadec looked up immediately. "Nothing," he said, without the slightest hesitation.

Then he started walking toward her. Just with the quiet certainty of a man who knew, that he had just made the choice that mattered more.

They settled at the dining table, files spread between them like a war map. Karadec scanned the crime scene photos while Morgan scribbled notes and shot theories at him rapid-fire, her mind racing faster than her pen could catch up.

"You realize you're narrating everything you think, right?" Karadec said after an hour, glancing at her with a faintly amused look.

Morgan stuck her tongue out at him. "It's called brainstorming, Karadec. Look it up."

When her stomach grumbled audibly, Karadec shook his head and stood. "You keep rambling. I'll make something."

Morgan looked up, surprised. "You cook?"

He shot her a wry look as he grabbed a pan from a cabinet. "How else do you think I survive?"

Minutes later, Morgan was holding a plate of simple but delicious-smelling pasta, marveling at it like he'd pulled off a magic trick.

"You seriously hid this from us?" she teased, twirling spaghetti around her fork. "You could be feeding the bullpen instead of letting us die on gas station burritos."

Karadec smirked. "Then you'd all expect it all the time. Can't set that precedent."

They ate while combing through old reports, the clatter of forks and the soft scratch of pens filling the space between their quiet conversations. It was easy. Natural. Like they'd done this a hundred times before.

But exhaustion crept in, slow and steady. By midnight, Morgan slouched sideways in her chair, tapping her highlighter lazily against her notepad. Karadec had shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, still scribbling notes but moving slower.

"You look like a dying plant," Morgan mumbled, half-laughing at herself too.

"Feel like one," Karadec let out a soft grunt. He tugged at his tie, muttering, "Maybe it's this stupid thing. Probably strangling my brain."

He fumbled with the knot, struggling more than he'd admit. Morgan watched him for a beat, then snorted and pushed herself upright.

"Come here, Mr. Professional," she said, reaching out.

Before Karadec could react, she grabbed the end of his tie and deftly began loosening it for him. Her fingers worked quickly, knuckles brushing lightly against his shirt collar.

Karadec froze. Their faces closer to each other's now.

He didn't dare move. Didn't dare breathe.

Morgan, oblivious, or pretending to be—kept talking. "Seriously, what is it with guys and strangling themselves with ties? You know there's a normal way to knot these, right?"

Karadec didn't hear a word she said.

He was too busy watching her. The way her brows furrowed slightly in concentration, the way the soft strands of hair framed her face, the way she fit so easily into his space without even thinking about it.

Morgan caught the shift in his gaze when she looked up to make another sarcastic comment—and stopped.

Their eyes locked.

Longer than normal.

Longer than safe.

A tension crackled between them, silent and heavy. Something unspoken stretched in the space they shared, shimmering with the threat of something neither of them dared to name.

Morgan's fingers stilled on his tie.

Karadec's breath caught.

And just like that, reality crashed back down.

Morgan quickly dropped her hands, stepping back with a laugh that was just a touch too high. "There. Fixed. You're welcome."

Karadec cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. Thanks."

They didn't meet each other's eyes for a minute, both pretending to be very invested in their case files.

But inside, both knew something had shifted. Something that wasn't going away, no matter how hard they tried to ignore it.

Morgan busied herself flipping through old photos again, her heart thudding in her ears.

Karadec pretended to study the timeline chart, but he didn't see a single word.

The case still loomed over them, unsolved.

But now there was something else between them, unsaid and undeniable.

And neither of them were ready to figure out what scared them more. The murder they couldn't solve...

Or the feelings they couldn't avoid.