Lena sat in her car long after the crime scene tape had been rolled up. The late autumn wind rattled dry leaves across the windshield. She stared ahead, unmoving, hands gripping the steering wheel like it might anchor her.
Carrie Roth was just like the others. Smart. Respected. Alone.
And no one noticed she was being hunted until it was too late.
Lena pulled out her notebook, flipping back through pages filled with names, dates, scribbles of theories that no one believed. She stopped at one picture—Jess. Her sister. Seventeen when they found her in a ravine. No suspect. No motive. Just silence.
You don't take no for an answer.
The words chilled her every time.
What kind of man says that like it's a philosophy?
She tapped her pen, then underlined three names.
Sophie Mills – found strangled in her home, no signs of forced entry.
Dana Greer – bruises on her wrists, last seen arguing with a man at a bar.
Carrie Roth – latest victim.
All three women had filed minor complaints. All three had brushed off encounters with a man they described as "polite but pushy." He listened too closely. Smiled too much.
He was invisible. Ordinary.
And that was the most terrifying part.
_____
Across Town
Ethan Ward sat alone at a café downtown. He stirred his tea in slow, deliberate circles.
A young woman across the room laughed into her phone. Her head tilted the way Carrie's did when she was nervous. She didn't see him watching. No one ever did.
He wasn't ugly. He wasn't threatening. He was safe.
And that was why they let him in.
He studied the woman's reflection in the window. Her name was Janelle Harper. He'd overheard it at the yoga studio two days ago. Her laugh lingered even after she left.
He opened a small leather notebook and jotted her name down.
Then, beneath it, he wrote: Maybe this time she says yes.
He smiled.
And if not…
He knew what came next.
_____
Back at HQ
Lena stood in front of the case board, pinning up Carrie's photo next to Sophie's and Dana's. The lines she drew between them weren't just physical. They were emotional. They were women who trusted too easily, or fought back too late.
She could feel it in her gut now—there was a predator. Someone who didn't just kill, but needed control. Someone who wanted to be wanted.
She pressed her palm to her sister's photo. "You fought, didn't you?" she whispered.
Her phone buzzed. An officer from out of state had called her back.
"We may have something," the voice said. "Your note… it matches one we found last year. But the case was closed."
Lena's eyes sharpened. "Send me everything."
A pattern was emerging.
And the clock had started ticking.
_____