“But about nine months ago, a video leaked of a sadistic ritual taking place. They were sacrificing a child and drinking his blood. Since then, a few more videos have leaked, including one last night.” I pause, clenching my jaw and trying to regain the composure that is beginning to slip through my fingers. Blowing out a deep breath, I continue. “I’ve told you already that Mark was in the first video, which is why I targeted him and the three other men I killed. All four of them were performing the ritual. The night I killed Mark, he disclosed the location to me, so I went there yesterday to insert myself, gain trust, and be invited into the dungeon. They were drinking out of the same goblets that they use in the ritual.” I pause, nearly blind from rage as I admit, "I think this recent video was from last night, and those goblets were full of blood from a sacrifice they performed while I was there." The coffee cup clatters against the metal table, nearly toppling over as Addie attempts to set it down. Her hand 1s badly shaking and it looks like a piece of the ceramic breaks off. “What the fuck,” she breathes, her eyes wide with shock and repulsion. Though, they don't stray from me as she says, "Zade you couldn't have known that's what was happening. You can't blame yourself for that." I clench my teeth against the snarl threatening to take over my face, the muscle in my jaw threatening to burst. "The fuck I can't," I snap. She flinches, her face softening. "I didn't build Z and become who I am today to allow for a child to be sacrificed right fucking below me. And watch sick fucks drink their blood like its goddamn water." Tears form in her eyes, but she stays silent while I work to calm myself down. "I've dedicated almost six years to eradicating human trafficking. Seattle happens to be a prime location for pedophile rings, but in reality, they’re everywhere. And I plan to take them all down. Or as many as I can until this life takes me down first.” Addie doesn’t speak. She stares into her nearly depleted coffee as if it’s an 8 Ball that will give her whatever answer she’s looking for. The sound of the furnace kicks on, filling the otherwise static silence. After a few moments, she looks up at me, an unreadable expression on her freckled face. “Why?” she whispers. “Why did you choose to put your life in danger and hunt down these people and kill them? What made you decide to do this?” Her tone isn’t laced with judgment, but the need to understand. But I’m not sure my answer will offer her the understanding she's asking for. “Because I want to, baby.”