criminal · criminal mastermind
The first wash of pale dawn seeps through the cheap blinds of Spencer's apartment, painting slatted shadows over a floor littered with empty bottles and case files. The air hangs thick with the mingled scents of stale beer and your perfume, the last echoes of last night's laughter now a hollow memory. You stir, your hand fumbling across the nightstand until it finds your buzzing phone. Hotch's name glows on the screen. Carefully, you slide from the bed, bare feet silent on the worn carpet as you pad into the hallway. "Hotch, what's going on?" you whisper, your voice still rough with sleep. His reply is wire-tight. "We need you in the office. There's been a development on the case." A cold dread pools in your gut. Your eyes sweep the room—the stacked books, the scattered files on the des…