"Kinda chilly out tonight," Gale said. She and Dewey had been walking for about five minutes and were running out of things to talk about besides the sky or weather. The California heat evaporated once the sun went down, leaving the night cold. Unlike Dewey, who had grown accustomed to the cool fall nights in Woodsboro, Gale buried her hands in her leather coat and fought off the mild shivers to keep up appearances. She had expected to be sitting in the news van all night. If she knew she'd be walking around outside, she would've considered a pair of slacks in place of her plaid skirt.

Dewey shrugged, hands in his jacket pockets. "I like it. I'll take a little cold at night over the 80-degree heat any day."

Gale nodded. "Tell me about it. Last time I was reporting on-site in LA, I swear you could fry an egg on the road."

"I remember that. It was on Tommy Lee at the Viper Room, wasn't it?" he asked.

"I'm surprised you remember. I didn't peg you as a fan." Gale said, a little flattered.

"Well, I wouldn't say a 'fan', he deflected, "more of a casual viewer." He tried to hide his embarrassment after letting it slip that he had watched her show more often than he'd like to admit. Just because he was in her demographic doesn't mean he was proud of it.

Gale chuckled at his defensiveness.

Dewey paused. "What's it like?"

"The show? It pays the bills, but I'd-"

"No," he interrupted. "I mean reporting. Especially in a place like LA. You must be pretty respected in your field to get opportunities like that."

Gale frowned. "Not as respected as you might think. A lot of my work has been cheesy tabloid fluff. 'Who's dating who? Which actor got arrested for what? Who's sex tape got leaked this time?" She rolled her eyes. "It's not real journalism."

Dewey raised an eyebrow. "And what do you consider 'real journalism?" he asked incredulously.

"Stories that mean something!" Gale shouted. "Stories that make an impact, that really matter to people!" she continued.

Dewey shined his flashlight towards the woods every couple of seconds to check for the abandoned car. He resorted to that gesture whenever he didn't know what to do with his hands. Continuing to aimlessly point his light at nothing, Dewey stayed quiet in response to the woman's outburst, letting her continue her rant.

"Instead I'm stuck with tasteless schlock until I can make a real name for myself," she huffed.

Dewey nodded in understanding. "Enter Cotton Weary."

Gale looked at him inquisitively.

"That's his role in all this, isn't it? To be the man rescued from death row by Gale Weathers with her investigative skill and dedication to justice for those wronged by the system," he declaimed.

"That's the plan." She paused as his words registered. "Wait, you believe him?" She was surprised to find someone else who shared her sympathy for the convict, let alone the pseudo-brother of his main accuser.

"What?"

"You said he was wronged by the system," Gale explained, "That sounds like you think he's innocent."

"I don't see why that's so hard to believe," he replied matter-of-factly.

"I guess I assumed you'd be on Sidney's side."

"I never said I was on anyone's side," he asserted curtly, almost cutting her off at the tail end of her sentence.

Gale was startled by his sudden aggression. She waited a few seconds before tentatively asking again, "So, you believe his story? That Sidney falsely identified him?"

Dewey sighed deeply before answering carefully, pausing between each couple of words. "I believe… that she believes… that she saw Cotton. I know Sid. She wouldn't lie. Especially not about this." He ended on a somber note, the unspoken gravity of his statement hanging heavy in the air. A quiet settled over them since the reminder of the dire events put a damper on the conversation.

Gale was the first to speak again. "I want to help exonerate Cotton. I couldn't live with myself if I let an innocent man be put to death."

"And this moral mission of yours has nothing to do with the national acclaim you'd receive for clearing his name?" Dewey questioned, his voice laden with skepticism.

Gale was caught off guard by his effective call-out. "Well, I would be lying if I said that was the only reason," she admitted sheepishly. Dewey saw through her virtuous act and exposed her self-serving intentions. Such a low blow was disrespectful and unnecessarily personal; she was impressed. Perhaps Deputy Riley was smarter than she gave him credit for. She smiled, proud of him. Seeing her look up at him with unfamiliar respect, his previous confidence evaporated as he returned to his nervous stance. "But it should be no surprise I'm not the most ethical person."

"Of course not. I mean, who else bombards a teenage girl with invasive questions an hour after her traumatic brush with death?" he said with bitter sarcasm, flashing her a sardonic grin.

Yet again, Gale was further perplexed by the enigma that was Dewey Riley. Just when she thought she'd gotten a basic understanding of the man, he threw another uncharacteristic curveball her way. With his default friendly attitude disrupted by the odd biting remark, he was proving difficult to get a read on. The reporter made a mental note to consider rewriting her description of him on page 41. Gale had been acquainted with the innocuous young deputy with a heart of gold and brain of straw, but she could sense there was someone beneath that unassuming surface. There was more to the deputy than he let on. Gale was determined to unearth that hidden layer.

"Sometimes you have to be cutthroat in this business," she said haughtily, straightening her spine with pride. "That means pushing the boundaries on what's ethical."

Dewey did a cartoony impression of the killer's trademark gravelly voice. "Like cutting the throats of a few small-town teens for some publicity." He wrapped himself around her and pantomimed holding a knife to her neck. "Anything for a story, right?" he joked.

A real smile made it onto her face in place of her false one. She was genuinely smitten by the younger man. Dewey had never been the one to initiate physical contact before, so this quasi-embrace was an unexpected development that Gale welcomed. She was pleasantly surprised to be held in his arms. Even if it was while he pretended to threaten her at knifepoint. She playfully leaned into him. "Exactly," she stage whispered with a sly grin. She broke out into a fit of giggles which Dewey joined as they separated.

As his laughter died off, he stared straight ahead and asked, "How far would you go?"

Gale composed herself. "Huh?"

"For a story," Dewey continued. "To what lengths would you go to secure your place in the history books of journalism? Where do you draw the proverbial line in the sand?" he mused, looking down at her with intrigue.

Gale eyed him with suspicion. It wouldn't normally be an odd question to ask, but the way he said it made it sound dubious, to say the least. "For example…" she drew out the words, hoping for him to explain further.

"For example," he elaborated, "if a criminal offered you valuable information in exchange for protection, would you take it?"

"Could you be a little more specific?" She was curious to see where he was going with this.

"Okay, let's say a violent assailant is on the loose," he started.

"Completely hypothetical, I'm sure," she remarked sarcastically.

"Of course," he said, matching her lighthearted tone. "Another criminal has access to an exclusive source that may reveal the whereabouts of said assailant. They promise to give you their source as long as you don't turn them in. What's your move?"

The woman quirked an eyebrow at him. "Is this a trick question? I sure hope you're not trying to entrap me, Deputy Riley." Her vocal delivery of his title coupled with his name sent a pleasant shiver down his spine and a wave of goosebumps down his arms. Gale spoke with a mischievous allure, channeling a femme fatale-esque energy.

Her performance appeared to have the desired effect on Dewey, evident by his blushing face. He self-consciously tried and failed to obscure his uncontrollable, giddy smile with his hand. He chuckled, waving off her concerns with an explanation. "No, no, nothing like that. It's just this dilemma that got asked around at the academy. It's a way to test new recruits on their moral reasoning skills."

Gale tilted her head to the side. "I suppose that's one way to weed out snitches." she mused.

"So… what's your call?"

She mulled it over for a few seconds before forming her answer. "I'd agree to the deal, get my source, and check its credibility. If it's legit, I use it and turn the perp in," she concluded with confidence.

"Really?" Dewey asked in disbelief. "If they depend on you for their safety, why wouldn't you keep your word?" he rationalized.

Gale scoffed. "And give them the opportunity to double-cross me? Not a chance." Gale straightened herself and began her oration. "I subscribe to the notion that most crime is committed out of selfishness: a disregard for the consequences one's actions have on others," she explained, her inner writer showing with her eloquent and articulate manner of speech. It made Dewey look forward to reading her book. "If someone is willing to break the law for their personal gain, who's to say they aren't willing to sacrifice their integrity for the same reason?"

Confliction arose in his eyes as he processed her words. Her expository lecture had set something off in his brain. It was an amalgamation of disbelief, denial, confusion, worry; subtle, fleeting impressions of emotions fluctuated and shifted about his face. Shaking off his face twitching, he reigned his mind in and redirected his thoughts outwards. He glared down at Gale in judgment. "You wouldn't trust them to keep up their end of the bargain?" he asked accusatively with a thinly veiled layer of desperation to his question.

Gale met his eyes with a firm resolve. "Would you?"