Chapter Fourteen: The Line Between
"The problem isn't knowing evil,
but realizing the moment
you stop resisting it."
— Edgar Wilmore
London was too quiet.
No crimes for three days.
No messages.
No flowers.
The newspapers began to ask:
Has the killer stopped?
But Howard knew better:
Silence is not an ending… silence is preparation.
Eliza sat in the newsroom,
an unpublished article in front of her.
The title: "The Killer's Mind: When Understanding Becomes Betrayal."
She knew—if she published it,
it would expose a pattern only Edgar knew.
He would feel seen.
Provoked.
But if she didn't publish…
she would be protecting him.
She whispered to herself:
Am I a journalist… or a witness?
Her hand hovered over the print button.
Then stopped.
In his room,
Edgar burned old papers.
His childhood.
His earliest thoughts.
Drafts of crimes that never happened.
He said calmly:
"Those who imitate me,
those who watch me,
and those who write about me…
they've all come too close."
Then he wrote a single sentence in a new notebook:
"I will force them to choose."
Howard obtained an unofficial authorization.
Surveillance.
Quiet searches.
Following Eliza without her knowledge.
He wasn't proud of it.
But ordinary cases don't create monsters…
and this was anything but ordinary.
He told his partner:
"If she's innocent… she'll forgive me.
And if she's not… regret won't matter."
A short message reached Eliza:
"The old library.
Nine o'clock.
Alone."
She knew immediately—it was Edgar.
She put on her coat.
Told no one.
And on the way,
she felt something strange…
She wasn't afraid.
She was ready.
In the abandoned library,
they sat facing each other.
Edgar spoke calmly:
"Someone is stealing my idea."
She replied:
"I know."
He looked at her for a long moment.
"And he will kill… without meaning."
She stayed silent.
Then said:
"Stop him."
He smiled faintly.
"I can't… alone."
And there,
the dividing line was drawn between them.
He leaned closer and said:
"If you had a choice…
to stop one killer,
or allow him to continue
so that ten more are never born…
what would you choose?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Then she said:
"I choose not to become like you."
He laughed softly.
"Then don't write about me anymore."
That night,
Eliza returned to her desk.
She tore the article apart.
But she began writing another:
"The Silent Contagion."
Not about Edgar.
But about the danger born
when a killer becomes an idea.
At the same moment,
Edgar wrote a final message:
"Now,
we stand on opposite sides."