The command vehicle door slams harder than it needs to.

I look up immediately.

Hotch rarely shows frustration in the field. Even under extreme pressure he usually maintains the same controlled calm that makes the rest of the team steady.

Right now he looks irritated.

Genuinely irritated.

He walks past us, running a hand over the back of his neck before stopping near the perimeter line.

“That woman,” he mutters.

Morgan lifts an eyebrow.

“That woman?”

Hotch exhales sharply.

“She thinks every problem can be solved with a rifle.”

Across the street the HRT command post is still operating with machine-like precision, operators moving in coordinated patterns around the staging area.

Hotch gestures toward it without even looking.

“Every negotiation strategy we suggested she dismissed in under thirty seconds.”

Rossi watches him with mild curiosity.

“That doesn’t sound like you’re enjoying the collaboration.”

Hotch gives a short humorless laugh.

“She’s impossible.”

Morgan grins.

“Come on, Hotch. You love tactical support.”

“I do,” Hotch says immediately.

Then he adds, more quietly,

“Not when the Unit Chief treats my entire team like a liability.”

My attention drifts back toward the command post.

Hale stands near the armored vehicle again, speaking with two operators while studying the building layout.

Her posture is steady.

Controlled. Commanding.

She doesn’t look angry.

She looks… certain.

Hotch continues pacing slowly.

“She doesn’t trust profilers.”

Morgan crosses his arms.

“Well, to be fair, you don’t trust snipers.”

“That’s because snipers operate on immediate resolution,” Hotch replies. “Profiling requires patience.”

Across the street Hale gestures once toward the roofline. Another team moves instantly.

I feel something strange settle in my chest as I watch.

Hotch is still talking.

“She believes force solves everything.”

Morgan glances at me.

I’m still staring across the street.

“…Reid.”

I blink.

“What?”

Morgan tilts his head slightly.

“You’re doing the thing again.”

“I’m observing.”

“You’re staring.”

Rossi chuckles quietly.

I look back toward the command post.

Statistically speaking, it’s unusual for someone to disrupt Hotch’s composure to that degree.

He’s one of the most controlled individuals I know.

And yet—

Hale managed it in under ten minutes.

My brain begins processing the observation automatically.

Highly confident leadership style.

Direct operational authority.

Complete lack of intimidation toward senior agents.

Hotch stops pacing.

“She’s convinced she can end the situation with one shot.”

I hear the frustration in his voice, and instead of sharing it, something else occurs to me.

Something unexpected.

“…Why do I find that impressive?”

Morgan freezes.

Rossi slowly turns toward me.

Hotch stops mid-step.

I clear my throat slightly.

“What I mean is—”

Morgan’s grin spreads immediately.

“Oh no.”

“—statistically speaking, individuals with extremely high operational confidence often—”

“You like her.”

“I do not like her.”

“You absolutely like her.”

“I find her command structure efficient.”

Morgan laughs outright.

“Man just said command structure.”

I glance back toward the command post again.

Hale shifts slightly as she studies the map, her operators waiting for instructions.

My brain immediately begins constructing an argument.

If I simply explain the behavioral strategy. Clarify the psychological leverage. Demonstrate the negotiation pattern. She might reconsider the approach.

Yes, that’s entirely reasonable.

Morgan watches my posture change.

Then he groans.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“You’re about to go talk to her.”

I straighten slightly.

“I believe a conversation could resolve the disagreement between tactical and behavioral analysis.”

Rossi shakes his head slowly.

“Kid.”

Morgan pats my shoulder.

“You look like a male bird puffing up before doing a mating dance.”

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do.”

I glance across the street one more time.

Then I start walking toward the command post.

Morgan calls after me.

“This is gonna end badly.”