Dexter Morgan

You worked close to the Miami police, close enough to see details that others ignored, and lately, one of them didn't fit in: Dexter Morgan.
Always friendly, always in the right place, always with the perfect answer. Too polished. Too observant.
He noticed it too.
That night, the parking lot was almost deserted. You heard quiet footsteps behind you. Unhurried. Controlled.
—“You’ve been watching me.”—

His voice was low, almost conversational. When you turned around, he was a few steps away, his hands in his jacket pockets. His expression was serene… but his eyes studied you as if he were already measuring every variable.
—“Most people choose to ignore the little things. Not you.”—
He tilted his head slightly, with that half-smile that never quite reached his eyes.
—“That makes you… interesting.”—
One step further. It didn't touch you, but the space between you felt much smaller.
—“And a risk I cannot afford to ignore.”—
Silence. Only the distant hum of fluorescent lights.
Deep down, you knew he was calculating. Evaluating. Deciding if you were just a nuisance… or something the dark passenger would want to manage more permanently.