CHAPTER 6: "Names and Red Flags"
One Week Later – 9:03 AM – Agency HQ
The smell of burnt coffee and yesterday's paperwork hung in the air. Camila dragged herself through the office door, oversized grey hoodie slipping off one shoulder, her baggy jeans low on the hips and wrinkled beyond salvation.
She headed straight for the coffee pot like it was her final lifeline.
"Rough morning, sunshine?" Mateo asked from his desk, his feet already kicked up, his mug halfway to his mouth.
Camila rolled her eyes. "Shut up, Johnson."
"I live for your affection," he said with mock sincerity, standing to join her by the coffee machine. "Honestly, you look like a hungover raccoon."
She sipped from her mug and mumbled, "Better than a useless peacock like you."
He smirked. "Touche."
She walked back to her desk with her coffee and dropped into her chair. Jack's file lay open in front of her—the same images she'd burned into her brain over the past week: burned photographs, scattered shoe prints, that same red "X" marked across each victim's file.
Her knee bounced.
This guy was still out there. Watching. Waiting.
Mateo stood nearby, leaning over her shoulder, chewing on a toothpick. "You've been staring at that same photo for seven minutes."
She was about to tell him off when his eyes flicked down—and froze.
"Camila," he said, voice suddenly more serious.
"What?" she snapped.
He hesitated, then leaned close to her ear, lowering his voice.
"You got your period, idiot."
Camila blinked. "Wha—?"
"Your jeans. You've got a stain. Back left."
Her heart sank. She went completely still.
Mateo straightened and, without a word, unbuttoned his flannel overshirt and gently tied it around her waist like it was the most casual thing in the world.
"Seriously?" she muttered, mortified.
He leaned close again, lips near her ear. "Relax. Happens to everyone. You're not dying."
Her cheeks were on fire. "I—I need to—ugh!"
She rushed toward the bathroom, face flushed, muttering every curse word in the dictionary under her breath.
---
Ten Minutes Later – Back at Her Desk
She returned, quiet, with his shirt still tied around her waist—because the stain hadn't fully faded. She tried to avoid eye contact with Mateo as she sipped from her coffee and stared at Jack's case file like it had personally wronged her.
Isla wandered over with her usual grace and drama. "You okay? You look like you just got roasted by a priest."
"I'm fine," Camila mumbled.
"She had a moment," Mateo called from across the room.
Camila glared daggers at him. "If you breathe in my direction again, I swear to God—"
"Still avoiding me?" Mateo walked toward her slowly, hands in his pockets, smirking.
"You're literally the worst."
"I tied my favorite flannel around your hormonal butt and this is the thanks I get?"
"You're lucky I didn't bleed on your face."
He laughed, and for a moment, it didn't matter that there was a serial arsonist targeting women.
It felt… lighter.
Camila shook her head with a small smile, just as Mateo leaned down beside her and nudged her elbow. "Still cute when you're grumpy."
She shoved him away gently. "Go flirt with someone who likes you."
"Impossible. That's only you, Wilson."
---
Later That Night – 10:16 PM – Convenience Store Again
Camila pushed through the glass door, headed for the snacks aisle. Hoodie back on, hair pulled up, earbuds in. She grabbed another pack of her favorite noodles and a bottle of soda.
Just as she turned toward the counter—
He was there. Again.
Samuel.
Same boots. Same black hoodie. Same quiet presence. Standing at the register, motionless.
She blinked.
Was he following her? Or was this some weird cosmic magnetism?
They paid one after another.
Outside, under the cold streetlights, they stepped into the same stretch of sidewalk. Their steps synchronized, awkwardly close.
Finally, Camila glanced sideways and broke the silence.
"…This is the third time we've met."
He didn't look at her.
She took a slow breath, heart hammering despite herself.
"So…" she asked, her voice quieter now, but firm, "…what's your name?"
He stopped walking.
She did too.
The air between them thickened like fog.
He turned his head toward her, just slightly.
Dark eyes. Sharp jaw. Still unreadable.
And then—
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TO BE CONTINUED…