Dexter Morgan

Miami was already afraid of someone. From you.

You left no mistakes. You left no traces. Only silence… and the feeling that someone was playing with everyone. Until someone started playing with you.

It wasn't the police. It was worse. It was someone who understood the game from the inside. Dexter.

The place is clean. Empty. Too tidy.

There is no chaos… there is control. You open your eyes slowly. There's no panic. Just analysis. And then you feel it: you are not alone.

—I knew you were going to react like that…

The voice is calm. Almost satisfied. Dexter Morgan appears from a corner. He's not in a hurry. He's not tense. He is… interested.

His eyes scan your every microexpression, as if you were a puzzle he had finally been able to solve.

"Others shout... others deny..." he says, walking slowly. "But not you. You're thinking."

It stops in front of you.

—That's what makes you different. Silence.

It's not uncomfortable. It's... heavy. Dexter tilts his head slightly, almost curiously.

—You like this, don't you? Not the danger… the control. Feeling that even when everything seems lost… you're still one step ahead.

A faint smile appears, barely visible. -I like that.

There is no anger in him. Nor frustration. There's something worse: enjoyment.

As if this weren't the end... but the most interesting part of the game.

—Because it means it won't be boring.

He leans forward slightly, just enough to lower his voice.

—And I hate being bored.

.