Good advice
"Hello, FBI, you're Dean Braeden?" The man in a cheap suit and gaudy red-and-blue tie asked and waving his badge.
"Yes, I am," Dean nodded with caution hunter who used to be.
"Hmmf ... I'm here for Artemis Hill, five days ago you has brought her to the local hospital with serious burns and concussions," young agent coughed nervously as he stared at Dean. That boy was wisp of a man, Dean would could break him every bone in your body in just a split second. Boys, as him, wouldn't do such job.
"Yes... some irregularities?" Dean asked.
"No... or yes..." The young man paused and sighed in frustration. Dean earnestly hoped that the boy has better skills than this, because otherwise he would have to actually start to worry about the guy. You've accidentally walked down the street and you had idea, and then you walked into a nearby abandoned warehouse, where you stumbled upon a serial killer, who burned there one of his victim, which was still alive. Before he managed recovered himself, you pulled a gun, which routinely every carpenter and mechanic occasional wear wherever he go, and you shot him. Then you brought the victim to the hospital," finally he got out of himself. Decent dose of sarcasm, which he used, probably helped him. Maybe the guy wasn't so useless, as it seemed. Still, it was strange that the boy is from the FBI.
"Yeah... sort of," Dean grinned.
"You... you were a soldier or agent," it was not a question but a statement.
"No, not entirely, but you're close. However, I just let it be, and if you have a piece of mind, you let it, too, until it's time," the former hunter advised him. "Otherwise I can swear you, that happiness will not be your experience."
"You left it so you could live a happy, normal life?! And did it work?"
Former hunter didn't reply.