If Feelings Weren't Real.

4. Shadows In The Silence.

The quiet of Benrov, usually a comforting blanket over the small town, now felt oppressive, like the calm before a storm. Agent Ashley Emma's mind was a whirlwind of theories and unanswered questions as she made her way to speak with the victim's friend, a potential key to unraveling the mystery enveloping their once peaceful community.

She found the woman sitting alone, away from the prying eyes of the press and the anxious murmur of onlookers. Her posture spoke volumes—slumped shoulders, hands clasped tightly together, the very picture of someone grappling with shock and disbelief.

"Ma'am, I'm Agent Emma," she began, her voice gentle but firm. "I understand this is an incredibly difficult time, but anything you can share about Marla could be crucial to our investigation."

The woman looked up, her eyes red-rimmed and haunted. "I don't know where to begin," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "Marla... she was the most vibrant person I knew. Always helping others, never a bad word about anyone. Who would do this to her?"

Emma listened intently, her experienced gaze picking up on the subtle shifts in the woman's demeanor. "Did Marla ever mention feeling unsafe or mention someone new in her life? Anything out of the ordinary?"

The friend shook her head, then paused. "Well, there was this client she mentioned a few weeks back. Said he was a bit odd, too interested in her personal life. But she brushed it off, said she was probably reading too much into it."

"Did she mention a name?" Emma pressed, her instincts telling her this was more than a mere coincidence.

"No, she... she didn't. But she mentioned they met near the old mill for a property showing. Said it was strange, but he insisted."

Emma's mind raced. The old mill was isolated, perfect for someone who didn't want to be seen. "Thank you," she said, standing up. "You've been incredibly helpful."

As she walked away, Emma's resolve hardened. This wasn't just a series of random killings; there was a pattern, a motive hidden just beneath the surface. And she was determined to uncover it.

Back at the crime scene, Bill returned from dealing with the press, a look of frustration on his face. "Managed to keep them at bay for now. How did it go with the friend?"

Emma shared the new information, watching as Bill's expression changed from frustration to intrigue. "The old mill, huh? That place has been abandoned for years. Might be worth checking out."

"Yeah, but we'll need to be careful," Emma cautioned. "If our guy likes secluded spots, he might not take kindly to visitors."

The decision was made. With a small team, Emma and Bill headed towards the old mill, the weight of their task heavy on their shoulders. The sun began to set, casting long shadows across the town of Benrov, as if nature itself was bracing for the darkness to come.

Arriving at the mill, they approached with caution, flashlights piercing the encroaching darkness. The building loomed ahead, silent and imposing, a relic of a bygone era now playing host to a modern nightmare.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and decay, but it was the silence that was most unnerving. They moved methodically, searching for any clue that might lead them to the killer.

And then, almost too easy, they found it—an array of photos pinned to the wall, each the first two victims, each marked with a red X. At the center was Marla Shay, her photo circled in black.

Emma's breath caught in her throat. "He's been planning this for a while," she whispered, the reality of their adversary's meticulousness sinking in. "These women weren't just chosen at random; they were targeted."