CHAPTER 7: "Names and Nightmares"
The silence stretched between them beneath the cool city lights.
Camila stood still, heart thudding as the tall man turned, his dark gaze locked onto hers.
Then, finally, he spoke—his voice smooth, low, and quiet.
"Samuel."
Camila blinked, her throat dry.
He paused for half a second, then added, "Samuel Williams."
Something in the way he said it made her shiver—calm, yet distant, like he was telling her just enough to keep her curious.
"I'm Camila," she replied softly, not sure why she was introducing herself again. Maybe it was nerves—or maybe it was the way he looked at her like he already knew.
He gave her a subtle nod, then looked away, slipping his hands into his hoodie pockets.
No small talk. No questions. No goodbye.
He just… left.
And she stood there, watching him disappear into the shadows once more.
---
The Next Morning – 8:47 AM – Agency HQ
The hum of computers and clinking of mugs filled the air as the detectives clocked in.
Camila sat at her desk, head buried in files, coffee in one hand, and stress wrapped around her like a blanket. Mateo leaned on the back of her chair, eyeing her with that usual spark in his smirk.
"So…" he started, "You saw tall, dark, and emotionally unavailable again?"
Camila didn't look up. "He has a name. Samuel."
Mateo raised an eyebrow. "Ooooh. First-name basis now? Scandalous."
She shot him a dry look. "Relax. He handed me noodles and told me his name. It's not a marriage proposal."
"Well, at least you're branching out from your usual attraction to crimes and caffeine."
She rolled her eyes, but couldn't help the faint smile tugging at her lips.
"Anyway," she said, changing the subject, "I want to go through Jack's case again. Something's still not adding up."
Mateo's smile faded.
"Camila," Isla called, hurrying over from the far end of the office, holding a manila folder with shaking hands.
Camila stood instantly. "What is it?"
Isla swallowed hard and handed her the file.
Crime Scene: Bronx. Victim: 9-year-old girl.
Camila's stomach twisted as she flipped through the photos and reports. The girl had been reported missing two nights ago. Found this morning—burned. Violated.
"Same MO," Isla whispered. "He's getting bolder."
Mateo clenched his jaw and looked away, his fists tightening.
Camila's hand trembled as she closed the folder.
This wasn't just a killer. This was a monster.
She didn't say anything more. Didn't have to.
The air turned heavy. The room quiet.
They all knew what this meant.
Jack was escalating.
And fast.
---
Later That Night – 10:11 PM – Outside Camila's Apartment
She couldn't sit still.
The file sat open on her coffee table, but her eyes had stopped reading the lines twenty minutes ago.
So she stepped outside.
The street was dimly lit, the air cool, her oversized hoodie wrapped tight around her. She walked without thinking, letting the chill bite at her skin, trying to keep the darkness in her head from swallowing her whole.
She turned the corner toward the convenience store again—almost instinctively.
And just like that, she felt him before she saw him.
Samuel.
Leaning against his bike near the alleyway, hoodie up, arms folded, boots scuffed with city grime.
He didn't speak.
Neither did she.
She stopped in front of him, arms crossed, meeting his eyes.
They stood in silence for a long moment.
Finally, Camila broke it.
"You always show up when I need to breathe. What are you, some kind of walking coincidence?"
A ghost of a smirk played at the edge of Samuel's lips.
"I just don't like loud places," he said simply.
She tilted her head. "What do you do, anyway?"
He didn't answer.
Didn't lie.
Just didn't say anything.
She studied him again—his eyes, his calm, his stillness.
Then finally, quietly: "Why do I feel like you're not just a guy who likes quiet?"
He looked down at her, expression unreadable.
Then, slowly, he said:
"Maybe you're asking the wrong questions."
---
TO BE CONTINUED…