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"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" the man snapped, giving her another shove forward. "You'll know soon enough."
Lizzie bit her lip, swallowing down the terror that threatened to consume her. As they continued to walk, she noticed a broken bottle on the ground, its jagged edges reflecting what little light there was. A desperate idea began to form in her mind.
"Please," she whispered, forcing herself to sound as pathetic as possible. "I can't go any further. My feet hurt so much."
"Keep moving," the man growled, his breath hot on her neck.
"Where are you taking me?" Lizzie whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Shut up."
Lizzie clenched her jaw, focusing on each step as she tried to calm her racing thoughts. She knew she couldn't call for help; there was too much at risk. Instead, she had to rely on herself and find a way out of this nightmare.
As they continued through the alley, Lizzie's eyes darted around, searching for anything she could use to her advantage. Broken glass glinted on the ground, graffiti-covered walls closed in on either side, and the distant hum of city life taunted her with its normalcy. But there was nothing she could do.
They got to the end of the alleyway, and the man said, "Turn around."
Lizzie faced him, her heart in her throat. His face was obscured by shadow. Shakily, he handed her a pair of gloves.
"Put these on," he said.
"W-what?" Lizzie stammered.
"I saidput them on!"he snarled, and Lizzie instantly did as she was told. She put the gloves on, and something wet instantly hit her palms within them. A strange, chemical smell filled her nostrils.
"Good," the man said, a smile playing at the bottom half of his face. "Now, place your hands together."
Lizzie did as she was told and placed her hands together, the substance on the gloves quickly gluing them together. She tried to pull them apart, but it was no use. Panic flooded through her veins.
"What... What did you do?" she asked, her voice trembling with fear.
The man's smile widened as he spoke. "You'll find out soon," he said calmly. "I could have killed you there and then, but I think this is more fun."
A sudden feeling of sickness began to make its way through Lizzie's body, her heart pounding and her stomach lurching, her skin sweating unnaturally. The man's smile only widened as Lizzie realized what had happened--
Putting these gloves on had sealed her fate.
The poison was working, and soon, she'd be dead.
CHAPTER ONE
The sun filtered through the canopy of trees as Special Agent Morgan Cross drove her car down a winding path in the forest. Midday light danced around her, casting dappled shadows on the dashboard. The hum of the engine provided a steady rhythm to her thoughts, and for a moment, she allowed herself to escape the harsh realities of her life.
"Almost there, Skunk," she murmured, glancing at the rearview mirror where her faithful Pitbull sat, panting happily and wagging his tail. His unwavering loyalty was a comfort to her, especially after everything she had been through.
"Hard to believe it's been so long, huh?" she said to Skunk, her voice tinged with melancholy. Memories of her time in prison still haunted her, the injustice of being framed for murder weighing heavily on her soul. Morgan had been out for months now after ten years behind bars after she was framed for being an accomplice to Samson, the Seven Signs Killer. But when Samson came back, the truth all came out, and the media—andsomemembers of the FBI—took Morgan’s side.
She had been reinstated as an agent, but it wasn’t without her own personal gripes. Now, after everything she’d been through since getting out of prison, she knew that she had been framed by someone with connections to the FBI. It was still unclear to her who, but it seemed to have something to do with her father. Morgan had never known her father to be an FBI agent before he died, and Morgan had seen the picture of him with other agents, years ago, before Morgan was even born...
If the photo was indeed real, then there was so much about her own past that Morgan didn't know. But that was why she was here--to hopefully find some answers.
The tires crunched over gravel as they finally arrived at the cabin, its wooden façade blending seamlessly into the surrounding foliage. It had belonged to her father.
"Maybe we'll find some answers here, buddy," she whispered, more to herself than to Skunk. Morgan needed this break from her duties at the FBI, hoping that it would offer her the chance to delve into her past and unravel the enigma that was her father.
Morgan's hand hovered over the ignition as she stared at the quaint wooden cabin nestled among the trees. Her mind raced with questions that refused to be silenced. Why had her father never mentioned his time with the FBI?
"Can't believe he never told me," she muttered under her breath, her grip on the steering wheel tightening. Skunk whined from the backseat, sensing her unease. Morgan took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the present moment. "Alright, let's do this, buddy."
