His breath caught. They were identical. Every loop, every stroke, every flourish. He leaned closer, his pulse racing. There was no mistake. His chest tightened. His hands trembled over the papers. The room suddenly felt colder, smaller.

  “Could it be her all along?” he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips. He slumped into his chair, staring blankly at the notes before him. The realization hit him like a blade twisting into his heart. The woman he loved, the woman who smiled at him, who said she missed him.

  Could she be the one behind all the blood? He wanted to deny it. But deep down, the truth was already sinking its claws in.

  The writing didn’t lie. And if Nancy was the serial killer he had beeb looking for, Then he was in love with the Devil himself.

  The day dragged on like a weight pressing down Nathan’s chest. His mind kept circling back to Nancy; her face, her voice, the faint scent of rose she always carried. Yet beneath those gentle thoughts, suspicion gnawed at him like a parasite that refused to die.

  He sat in his office, fingers tapping against the table, files sprawled open in front of him. “But I checked her apartment,” he muttered to himself, his voice low and heavy. “I saw nothing, there was absolutely nothing that point to any form of violence or crime.”

  He rose, pacing the room. The walls seemed to close in as his thoughts tangled. Every new piece of evidence screamed her name louder. The killer’s body build matched hers; slender, athletic, graceful. The handwriting from the anonymous notes? Identical to Nancy’s. Too precise to ignore. Too perfect to be dismissed as a coincidence.

  “But it doesn’t make sense,” Nathan murmured. “Why would she do it? How would she even pull off the Staunt alone?”

  He replayed the night of the Finance Minister’s murder in his mind like a haunting film reel. They had surrounded her house, every exit watched. Not a window creaked, not a door opened. And yet, by dawn, Nancy had stepped out of her house dressed for work, calm and unsuspecting, like someone who had slept soundly all night.

  Nathan rubbed his forehead. The memory itched like a wound he couldn’t stop scratching. “No one leaves their house, commits a murder, and then reappears without being seen. Unless.” He paused and touched his temple.

  Unless she has a secret method we have not been able to think of. He continued pacing.

  Unless she was more dangerous than anyone could imagine. He stopped pacing. A cold decision hardened in his chest. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” he whispered, jaw tightening. “One way or another.”

  The next evening came cloaked in calm deception. Nathan dressed neatly, a soft smile tugging at his lips, but beneath it, his eyes burned with quiet determination. He drove to Nancy’s apartment, rehearsing every line, every gesture. He would act natural. He had to. When Nancy opened the door, she looked radiant as ever; simple shirt, jeans, her hair tied loosely behind her head. She smiled, eyes lighting up like she’d been waiting all day. “Andrew,” she said warmly. “You’re just in time. I made dinner.”

  He forced a smile. “Couldn’t resist your cooking.”

  They ate together. They laughed. She poured wine. He joined in, pretending his heart wasn’t thundering against his ribs. Every time she leaned close, every time her eyes softened on him, guilt twisted in his chest; guilt for the thoughts he couldn’t silence. But when she got up to clear the dishes, he moved. Swift, silent.

  From his jacket pocket, he drew a tiny black case, a micro camera. His pulse raced as he looked around the living room. The corner shelf ; perfect. He slipped one camera there, angled toward the couch and main entrance. The second one went under a flower vase in the bedroom, its lens barely visible.

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  By the time Nancy returned, humming softly, he was sitting back casually, sipping his wine like nothing had changed. She smiled. “You look lost in thought.”

  “Just thinking how lucky I am,” he said with an easy grin, though his stomach twisted.

  They continued their evening as if nothing unusual hung in the air. They played board games, joked, and watched a movie. The laughter came easily, maybe too easily. It was the kind of laughter that masked secrets neither of them wanted to admit. Hours slipped by. When the clock struck midnight, Nathan stood, feigning a yawn. “I should go,” he said softly.

  Nancy turned to him, eyes wide and warm. “No,” she said. “Stay.” Her tone was gentle, but the way her hand caught his wrist stopped him mid-step.

  “I want you to spend the night with me,” she said, her smile faint but sincere.

  Nathan hesitated. “Nancy, I…”

  She pressed a finger to his lips, eyes shimmering. “Just tonight. Please.” He swallowed hard. “Alright,” he said finally, forcing his voice steady. They played one last round of their card game, laughter slowly fading into silence. The candles flickered. The night grew heavier. Nancy’s eyelids drooped, her voice softening into sleepiness.

  Within minutes, she drifted off beside him, her head resting against his arm.

  Nathan sat still for a long time, staring at her peaceful face. The gentle rise and fall of her breathing, the faint curl of her lips. She looked impossibly innocent, like a dream untouched by evil.

  He brushed a lock of hair from her face, his chest tightening. “You don’t look like a killer,” he whispered. “You don’t even look like someone capable of hate.” But his mind betrayed him, flashing back to the crime scene, to the bullet shot head of the Vice President, the note signed in looping handwriting that matched hers letter for letter.

  He clenched his fists. Doubt swirled in him like a storm. “What if all this is just coincidence?” he muttered. “What if I’ve been wrong all along?” He stared at her again. She shifted slightly in her sleep, murmuring something soft and unintelligible. The sound melted through him. His resolve wavered, then broke.

  “She’s an angel,” he breathed. “Not a killer.”

  He leaned back, exhaustion weighing down his body. The room was silent except for the ticking of the wall clock and the soft rhythm of her breathing. Somewhere in that stillness, the walls between them began to crumble.

  He turned slightly toward her, unable to help himself. Her hand brushed against his arm, her skin warm. The touch sent a rush through him, unbidden, unstoppable. Their eyes met briefly as she stirred awake. Confusion flickered in her gaze for a heartbeat, then faded into something softer, something that silenced every question in his mind.

  Her lips parted slightly. His name slipped out in a whisper. “Andrew!” Before either could speak again, the space between them vanished. His hand found her cheek; her lips found his. The kiss began hesitant, a trembling question neither dared to answer, then deepened into something raw and desperate.

  The rest of the world fell away. Clothes scattered silently onto the floor. The air filled with the soft sound of breathing, of whispered names, of the unspoken tension that had been building for weeks finally breaking.

  It was tender, uncertain, and painfully real. When Nathan entered her, she gasped softly, and he froze, realization striking him like lightning.

  He looked down at her, eyes wide. “You… you’ve never done it before!”

  She nodded faintly, face flushed, eyes glassy. “Don’t stop, please.”

  “I want you.”

  He moved with care after that; slower, gentler, as if afraid she might shatter beneath him. Her fingers dug into his arms, pulling him closer, grounding him in that fragile moment of trust. When it ended, they lay together in silence, their bodies tangled, the air heavy with unspoken truths.

  Nathan stared at the ceiling, his mind blank for the first time in days. Every doubt, every theory, every suspicion felt distant, washed away by the warmth of her body against his. Nancy stirred beside him, resting her head on his chest. “You’re quiet,” she whispered.

  He smiled faintly, running his fingers through her hair. “Just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “About how lucky i am to have you.”.

  Nancy smiled. “I love you, Andrew,” He whispered. “I love you too,” Nathan responded.

  He kissed her forehead. She sighed contentedly and drifted back to sleep in his arms.

  Nathan lay awake long after she had fallen silent, listening to the faint hum of the refrigerator, the distant sound of cars on the street below. The cameras he’d planted watched silently from their hidden corners, recording everything, but for the first time, he hated that they existed.

  He turned toward her again, watching how the moonlight spilled across her face. There was no trace of malice there. No shadow of guilt. “She’s too decent,” he whispered again, his voice almost breaking. “Too good. Too right.”

  The first light of dawn crept through the blinds, painting the room in pale gold. Nathan rose quietly, careful not to wake her. He dressed in silence, his movements slow and uncertain. Before leaving, he leaned over and kissed her softly. She stirred, eyes fluttering open. “You’re leaving already?” she murmured.

  “I have to,” he said gently. “i have to work.”

  She smiled sleepily. “Come back tonight.”

  “I will.”

  As he stepped out of her apartment, the cool morning air hit him, clearing the haze from his mind. He paused at the door, glancing back one last time at the woman lying in the sheets; fragile, innocent, untouched by the darkness he had been chasing.

  And in that moment, something in him shifted. The sharp edge of suspicion dulled into something else, something dangerously close to belief.

  As he walked away, he whispered to himself, “The girl is too decent and morally upright to be a murderer.”

  And across just watching him was Rita. Her hands rest on the steering of her car in anger. “He now spends night with her?” She asked herself. Then she picked up her phone wrote. “Did you do what I asked you?” She asked. “Yes,” the person texted back. “Then proceed to stage two.”