Gillian made herself walk slowly as she took the empty sports bottle out of her bag and filled it from the container in the fridge.

She screwed the cap back on, and all the while, her thirst grew more intense, like a raging fire at the back of her throat. Even then, she forced herself to stroll over to the window.

As the first light touched the sky, she took a small sip, suppressing her body's need to gulp and savoring the thick, rich fluid while ignoring the plastic aftertaste.

She watched the darkness flee before the yellows and oranges until the sky turned blue, and she took the last sip from the container with regret.

Gillian loved her view over the city and flipped the sunscreens unwillingly shut, turning the flat completely dark before making her way to bed, and dropping face down on top of the sheets, too tired to move.

She intended to rest only for a moment before taking a shower but fell into a profound and dreamless sleep.

***

A loud knock startled her from the dregs of a nightmare, catapulting her from slumber to wakefulness in an instant and bringing her to her feet as she made her way to the hallway and strode toward the door as if she had never been asleep.

The already familiar smell and steady heartbeat revealed her visitor, and her stomach growled to wakefulness at the aroma of coffee.

Gillian opened her door, and Colt leaned casually against the wall, extending a Starbucks cup like a peace offering.

"We got off to a bad start, and I'm sorry. Get dressed; we need to go," Colt said, looking less harassed, tired, and overworked.

She stood aside, gratefully accepting the beverage as Colt accepted the unspoken invitation to enter.

"It's not even five o'clock yet," Gillian grouched, indicating a seat and padding back to her bedroom to sneak a quick shower and dress.

The smell of death and damp still clung to her clothes and the back of her throat. The dead child cradling its head haunted her mind with horrible clarity and painstaking detail every time she closed her eyes. The death of a child wasn't something one could prepare oneself for, and it was such a tragic waste. She couldn't even imagine being a parent and having some uniformed officer arrive at her doorstep to tell her that her precious child had been murdered.

***

"In our unit, office hours are a loose term," Colt continued as if their conversation was never interrupted when Gillian returned.

She grabbed her keys off the table, strapped on her weapon, and glanced around the apartment to reassure herself she had everything she needed.

"I'm done; we can go."

Colt sighed, rising from the comfort of that couch with obvious reluctance as they made their way to the door.

"We're going to explore the buildings and streets surrounding our crime scene. Boss contacted one of the original profilers, and she agrees with your theory, although she disagrees with our theory that the victims were random."

They left the building and the fresh morning breeze cleared Gillian's head.

"She says she always insisted there was nothing random about these killings..." Colt's phone interrupted her.

"Colt." The detective listened to the person speaking as they got in the car but placed the phone in its holder and switched it to the speaker system so Gillian could hear too, unaware that she heard everything, anyway.

"Daniella found three possibilities from the theory that the parents may have spent time in jail. The first pair is Jacob and Stella Borden, and they had a minor son named Jake." Boss sounded gruff and tired.

"They got caught for distributing child pornography and child endangerment. During their arrest, they wounded a police officer, the kid ended up in the system, and we're tracking him down." He halted, probably checking the facts.

"He was seventeen. They also have an older son named Mike, who was around twenty and lives somewhere in the city." Another pause.

Colt started the car and pulled away from the curb.

"Then there are Mika and Talbot Schroeder. They had ten foster kids under their care that they abused, used to deal drugs, and break into houses. They were ages 11 to 15, and getting their files will be tricky, but we're on it. Are you there?"

"Yes, sir," Colt answered, swerving from lane to lane as if they were chasing a suspect.

"Lastly, there's Julian and Jane Osmond. They were arrested for the murder of Jane's mother. They thought of it as 'helping her out of her pain and dementia.' They also helped themselves to a policy of a million dollars in her name. A good lawyer got them thirty with parole at twenty. There is no official record of them having children, but they had a nineteen your old son listed as living with them. We're still tracking him down, Dan Osmond."

Someone swerved in front of them, and Andrea barely managed to avoid a collision as she snapped on the lights. The angry-faced driver looked startled and veered into another lane, almost causing another incident. Gillian would have chased him down for being a public menace and a danger to other road users, but Colt didn't even slow down.

"Are you alright?" Boss asked, realizing something had happened.

"Yes, sir. Just a roadhog," Andrea said calmly, her lips in a thin line, her jaw clamped, and her eyes a shade darker as her hands clamped the steering wheel.

"They were all arrested around when the murders stopped and were released in the last two months within days of the killings restarting," Boss sounded terse and thoughtful. "We've got them under surveillance," he rang off without saying goodbye.

Colt nodded to herself as she replaced her phone in its usual place in her side pocket.

"What do you think?" Colt asked without taking her eyes off the road.

"It's not one of the foster kids—they were too young when the murders started. That leaves us with Mike and Dan. I don't know, they were both around eighteen when the murders started, and that is young for so much premeditation." It chilled her to think that a child, a young adult, could be capable of such things.

Colt nodded.

She felt honored that the detectives placed so much stock in her opinion—something she did not expect.

***

They arrived at their destination in silence and got out, walking into the abandoned city with two of their co-workers and a cruiser shadowing them.

There were no beggars in this desolate abandoned and no dogs or cats, just the occasional rat as they searched further away from the murder scene.

Dusk came quickly and didn't last long. There was something disconcerting in the atmosphere of this place, and she breathed the cold air deeply into her lungs. The streetlights here were mostly out of order, but the cruiser's high beams and their strong flashlights illuminated the night, yet seemed subdued by its intensity. The shadows seemed hostile and dangerous, like hollow eyes staring at them.

It was the perfect playground for a killer to leave the dead, and she suppressed a shudder.