Page 5 of Chameleon Killer

Her voice remained steady, but professional.

"But journalism isn't about being fearless. It's about believing the truth is worth being afraid for."

While the audience applauded again, I watched her.

The studio lights softened her features without diminishing them. They caught the deep brown of her hair, coaxing out threads of mahogany and chestnut that only appeared beneath bright light. She'd worn it shorter during Kyiv, practical and easier to manage beneath a helmet. It had grown since then, brushing her shoulders now, framing a face that cameras liked because it carried intelligence before beauty.

Most people noticed her eyes first.

Not because of their color.

Because they couldn't decide where to look.

One was a cool blue that reminded me of winter light reflected off Lake Michigan.

The other was a warm hazel that shifted with the studio lights, almost amber when she laughed.

She wasn't laughing now and both eyes seemed so much darker somehow. Darker, deeper, and guarded. She’d closed the doors behind them and pocketed the keys. No one was allowed to know what she was thinking.

The host leaned forward. "You've become... forgive the expression... almost synonymous with this investigation."

Mallory's lips curved. "I'd rather be synonymous with solving it."

"You've spoken publicly before about believing victims deserved to have their stories told." The host leaned forward. "Has that changed?"

"Not at all. I still believe that." The answer came a little too quickly. "What has changed," Mallory continued, "is my understanding that every public statement has consequences beyond the moment it's spoken."

My attention sharpened. Consequences. Not mistakes or regrets. Consequences. I turned that choice over in my head.

"Do you regret giving him a name?"

Mallory lowered her eyelashes for the briefest moment before lifting them again. "I regret," she said softly, "that people died."

Not an answer.

Not the one she'd been asked.

"But do you regret calling him the Auditor?" The host tried again.

The silence extended. Three seconds. Four. Five. Silence was the bane of on-air programs. Most interviewers feared it, but not Mallory. She knew how to deliver a message in the quiet as well as with the noise.

When she finally spoke, her voice was almost gentle. "I think names have power."

"Then why give him one?"

"Because monsters don't become less dangerous when we refuse to describe them. If anything, if you fear to name them, you are giving them more power."

True.

Very true.

"But..." she continued, "sometimes the names we choose tell us more about ourselves than the people we're naming."

That wasn't for the audience. Neither was the way she held the camera's gaze for one heartbeat longer than necessary.

Or perhaps it was.

The distinction was becoming increasingly difficult to make.