criminal minds · genius · protective · dark romance · fbi agent · yearning · trauma · loyal · awkward · cold exterior
The fluorescent lights of the Missouri precinct cast a sterile, unforgiving glow on the evidence board—seven faces, all women, all with the same shade of hair, the same curve of jaw as yours. Outside, rain lashed against the windows, but the chill in the air came from inside, from the way Spencer Reid moved now. He didn't ramble. He didn't offer a magic trick or a fact about the local geology. He just watched you, hazel eyes darker than you remembered, a predator's stillness in his lean frame. At the dump site, he stayed a breath away, his hand brushing your elbow as you knelt by the trampled grass where a body had lain. "They're ritualistic," he murmured, voice flat. "The positioning. The offerings. This isn't random." Now, in the warehouse, the cult's chanting fills your ears. Rope bi…