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Morgan knew that she couldn't let this mysterious photograph distract her from the case at hand. Lives were on the line, and she owed it to the victims – and herself – to see this through. But as she stared at the photo, a dark suspicion began to grow in the pit of her stomach, one that she couldn't shake.
"Who sent you?" she whispered, her voice barely audible as she clutched the photograph to her chest. "And why now?"
Morgan's fingers trembled as she held the worn photograph, her eyes scanning the faces of the young agents standing in formation. Her gaze settled on one man, his stern expression softened by a hint of a smile. Staring back at her, with eyes that mirrored her own, was a man who looked so much like her father that it made her breath catch in her throat. She could hardly believe what she was seeing.
"Is that... Dad?" Morgan muttered, feeling an unsettling mix of anger and confusion washing over her. How could her own father have been involved with the FBI and never tell her? And why would Mueller hide this connection?
Morgan's fingers trembled as she held the photo, her heart pounding in her chest like a jackhammer. She stared at the image, her father's face unmistakable even amongst the row of stern-looking agents. He had always been an enigma to her, but discovering he was an FBI agent felt like a betrayal that cut deeper than any knife.
Is this my life?she wondered, feeling a sudden wave of nausea.A carefully constructed lie?
The silence seemed to close in on her, suffocating her with its emptiness. She flipped the photo over, scanning the faded words written on the back. The message was cryptic, but it promised answers if she dared to seek them out.
Come alone where it all started,the note read.The place of the incident ten years ago.
Morgan pressed her lips together, her mind racing. Ten years ago, she had been framed for murder, and her life had been forever changed. Whoever sent this photo knew about her past, knew her secrets, and wanted her to confront them.
"Who are you?" she murmured, her eyes drawn back to the faces in the photograph. Her father, Mueller...how many others had known the truth and kept it from her?
She paced the room, her thoughts a swirling vortex of anger, confusion, and fear. What would she find at the place where it all began? A trap? A reunion with her long-lost father? Or perhaps the truth that had eluded her for so long?
Determination surged through her veins, pushing aside the doubts and insecurities that threatened to consume her. She slipped the photograph into her jacket pocket, feeling the weight of it against her heart.
With that, Morgan grabbed her keys and strode out of her house, her every step fueled by a desperate need for answers. The shadows of her past loomed large, but she refused to let them define her any longer. It was time to confront the ghosts that haunted her and finally learn the truth about her father, her life, and the lies that had shaped her destiny.
***
Morgan's hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white as she barreled down the backroad highway. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of blood orange and deep purple. Her heart hammered against her chest, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she pushed her car to its limits.
A sudden flash of headlights in her rearview mirror caught her attention. Another car was racing after her, closing the distance at a terrifying speed. Panic clawed at the edges of Morgan's mind, but she forced herself to stay focused, her eyes darting between the road ahead and the approaching vehicle.
The car drew closer, its engine roaring like a beast from the depths of hell. Morgan's instincts screamed at her to swerve, to avoid whatever danger was bearing down on her. But she knew she couldn't afford to lose control now, not with so much at stake.
She gritted her teeth, flooring the accelerator, and felt her own car respond with a surge of power. The other vehicle matched her speed, weaving through the darkness mere feet behind her.
"Get off my tail!" Morgan snarled, her gaze flicking to the rearview mirror once more.
The mysterious car seemed to be toying with her, edging ever closer before falling back again. Morgan fought to keep her fear in check, focusing on the road ahead and the secrets that awaited her at her destination.
Morgan's heart raced as she pulled her car over to the side of the road, gravel crunching beneath the tires. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the confrontation to come. As the other car came to a stop behind her, she recognized the familiar shape of Derik's vehicle.
"Derik?" she muttered under her breath, confusion and relief warring for dominance within her. She opened her door, stepping out into the night air. It was cooler now, the sun having dipped below the horizon, leaving only faint traces of color in the sky.
Derik emerged from his own car, looking simultaneously sheepish and determined. He approached Morgan, hands raised to show he meant no harm.
"Cross," he said, his voice strained. "I need to talk to you."
"Talk?" she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You nearly ran me off the road! What the hell were you thinking?"
"I'm sorry," he replied, genuine remorse in his eyes. "But it was me. I sent you those messages."
"Messages?" Memories of the cryptic notes and the unsettling photograph flashed through her mind. The phone call--it really was him. But why? Morgan's head hurt from the confusion of it all. "Why?" she asked. "What are you trying to do?"
"Listen, I know how this looks," he continued, rubbing the back of his neck. "I had a plan, but I changed my mind last minute. I realized I couldn't go through with it, and I had to stop you before you went any further."
"Go through with what, Derik?" Morgan demanded, her voice thick with frustration and hurt. "What could possibly be so important that you'd do all this, mess with me like this?"
"Please, just hear me out," Derik pleaded. "I can explain everything. But not here, not now. We need to get somewhere safe, where we can talk without being overheard."
