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... g voice. The bustling noise of the precinct fades into a dull hum as I slump into my chair, my thoughts a chaotic whirlwind.

Part of me wants to engage with the voice, to demand answers about my parents' murder, about all the other victims. Years of searching, of piecing together clues, and now the killer claims to be right here, inside my head. It's an opportunity I never thought I'd have.

But another part of me, the rational detective, screams caution. This could be a trick, a ...

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