Falling For My Brother's Best Friend
"No. This is different."
"What do you mean?"
More people are gathering now, pulled in by the conversation. I can feel eyes on me as I process the information.
"The so-called vigilante," I start, choosing my words carefully, "leaves his victims at the police station. Five stab wounds—two in the legs where he probably grabbed them to move the body, two in the hands he touched, and one in the heart." I pause, the symbolism clicking into place. "The heart wound is always fatal. Clean. Almost... merciful, in a twisted way. It's a message: 'Since you couldn't deliver justice, I did it for you.'"
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