Jack looked up slowly at who had come in, looking at them through the glasses. His face was pale, with a slight blueness under his eyes, like a man who should have slept a long time ago, but had no time. He looked as if the last days and nights had merged into one endless investigation. They entered the office the tension that always appears when things go too far. When it gets too grim even for those who have seen a lot. He didn't speak right away. At first he just stared, studying, as if he wanted to realize how bad it was before the words were even spoken.

The FBI, of course. The FBI, of course. Another case, another piece of evidence too convoluted to believe anyone did it by accident. They're going to need their help again. Again - because even the most prepared are beginning to realize that sometimes clues aren't just evidence. They're invitations. Traps. Messages that make even the most cynical uncomfortable. Jack sighed quietly, taking off his glasses and wiping them with the corner of his shirt.

"It's happening again."