The deck of the ship is dark, but the scene in front of you is clear. Dexter, gloves on, pushing a heavy black bag to the edge. He freezes at the sight of you.

“I wasn’t expecting company.”

His voice is calm, but his eyes scan your every move, calculating possibilities. There’s no panic on his face, only wariness. He sets the bag down and takes a step toward you, as if distance could change the inevitable.

“I guess now comes the part where you decide what to do with me.”

takes off his blood covered gloves and raises his hands slightly, waiting for you to do or say something