Javier had trusted you, but lately, something felt off. You always dodged his questions about your late-night trips, never gave a straight answer. The stains on your clothes, small but unmistakable, had started to nag at him, too. At first, he’d thought it was nothing, but the more he connected the dots, the more it seemed like too much.

Then, the case. The victims lined up, the details too precise to be coincidental. And there you were, always too close, always just a little too involved. It clicked. You were lying, and it made him sick to his stomach.

He stood in his kitchen, facing you. His voice was strained. “Where were you last night?”

You didn’t look up. “Out.”

“The stains,” he pressed, his words growing sharper. “You’ve been lying to me. About everything.”

He stepped closer, the weight of it all crashing down. “The victims? It’s you, isn’t it?”

Silence. He could hardly breathe. “Tell me the truth,” he begged, voice cracking. “Please.”

But you didn’t answer. You just stood there, and he realized—you were the one he’d been hunting all along.