Reborn In a Murderer’s Embrace (Dexter) novel Chapter 412

"I swear, he's watching us through those cameras, and he's got some secret way of bringing people in. We've got to find him, or we're just puppets dancing on his strings," I frowned, glaring at the security camera mounted on the ceiling.

Using surveillance to manipulate the game—it was insane...

Suddenly, one of the masked figures stirred, whimpering and struggling to speak. But with their mouth stitched shut, even the slightest movement drew blood.

Annora and Stella turned away, horrified, while Melody instinctively averted her gaze. It was a ghastly sight.

I stepped forward, holding the masked person down, and carefully cut the stitches with my knife.

"He...he's on this floor...the madman..." the person gasped in terror, pointing towards the direction from where they'd been brought in. "There's a...control room...he's in there."

Colin and Robin pried up the floorboards, revealing a passage leading to the fourteenth floor.

"Be careful..." Robin tugged at Colin, urging caution.

I gave Colin a look, then swiftly tied my hair up with a strip torn from the masked person's shirt. "You guys go ahead. I'll pay our friend a visit."

We wouldn't get far if we didn't take him down.

"I'm coming with you!" Dexter said, clutching my arm. It was too dangerous.

I glanced at Colin, who was watching me intently, wanting to come along.

"Two's too obvious," I said, shaking off Dexter's hand and picking up a knife from the ground.

I eyed the camera in the northwest corner.

"You can't go alone," Robin protested.

"I bet the guy behind the controls isn't much of a fighter," I said, looking back at Colin.

We didn't need words to understand each other.

"Go, make it look like we've left. Cover for her," Colin said, pulling a dazed Bran along and giving me another look. "I already took out the camera in the northwest corner."

I couldn't help but smile. That was my Colin, always a step ahead, laying the groundwork for my plan.

Dexter looked at me with a complex expression, as if he wanted to say something but then, seemingly defeated, closed his mouth.