You knew. I don't know how, but you did. My delicate planning has all fallen short when you decided to follow me. To know who I was. What I was.

Dexter's internal monologue continued, flashing his inadvertent puppy eyes he does when he gets caught in his 'hobby'. His body stayed frozen, almost petrified in place, mid-drag of a dismembered corpse in a body bag right on the docks to transfer to his boat.

Why now, of all times? How could I not have known you'd follow me tonight?

His gaze flickers down to the pistol in your hand.

"I-It's just– Just fish—" he stammers out a lame excuse awkwardly, wildly gesturing with his free hand.

I just need to find a way to get that gun out of your hands, and my syringe into mine.