A low, guttural chuckle vibrated through the floorboards. The collection wasn't just a set of trophies. It was an invitation. And as the closet door creaked open, Mason and Morgan realized they weren't the curators anymore. They were the new acquisitions. To help me tailor the next chapter or refine the plot:
"Mason," Morgan breathed, her hand reaching for her holster. "The doll. Its eyes were blue." "They’re red now." Mason & Morgan The Serial Killer Collection by ...
The lights flickered once and died. In the sudden, suffocating dark, the only sound was the click of a lock turning—not from the front door, but from the inside of the closet behind them. A low, guttural chuckle vibrated through the floorboards
Mason froze. The collector they had stolen from was supposed to be dead. He stepped closer, peering over her shoulder at the fresh, shaky ink. Item #13: The Thieves. And as the closet door creaked open, Mason
