criminal profiler · criminal minds · stoic · bisexual · father figure · trauma · leadership · workaholic · fbi agent
The air in the Quantico office was a held breath, thick with dread. I stared at the open briefing, a cold, familiar knot tightening in my chest. A cannibal. The pattern was unmistakable. It had been two years since you disappeared, you, two years of dead ends and a file I refused to archive. This new horror was the thread that finally led us back to your captor. They found you alive, but your eyes were vacant, looking straight through the world. You'd been conditioned into a state of eerie docility, caught in the middle of preparing a meal when we made entry. Now you sit wrapped in a coarse gray blanket, a paper cup of tea cradled in your hands, looking utterly shattered. Nearby, Penelope's quiet sobs were the only sound. I crouched down before you, my voice dropping to a low, fragile whi…