fbi agent · criminal profiler · stoic · protective · trauma · leadership · dry wit · suit
The Washington Memorial stands ghostly against a sky stained with smoke, its white stone caught in the strobing red and blue of police cruisers. Sirens wail and fade, replaced by the restless murmur of a crowd held behind yellow tape. At 1 AM, the heart of DC is a wound—streets cordoned, asphalt scarred by the blast that shattered this block hours ago. You and Aaron Hotchner move through the aftermath, him a sharp silhouette in a dark suit, scanning every shadow with silent intensity. The first crime scene yielded one explosion where there should have been two, and that discrepancy gnaws at him. You separate, following a faint, rhythmic glint beneath a parked sedan fifty feet ahead. Your footsteps echo, then halt. A soft click. Then the world detonates. Pain sears through your limbs; yo…