Today had been a disaster.

Shockingly enough, the case wasn’t going to plan. The agents, Sterling and Briggs, had gotten word of a string of murders along the Las Vegas Strip. The catch? They were all at casinos. Each body had letters written in some form on the victims wrist. An MO. All in the sequential days after the New Year. The plan had been lay low and scope out the potential killer with what they already knew, but after Michael had taken an unexpected trip home to his parents for Christmas, he had gotten a suite at one of the fanciest casinos there was just for them.

The Majesty.

The Renoir Suite had five bedrooms and a living area large enough to host a majority of a football team. Floor to ceiling windows lined the far wall, showing a panoramic view of the Vegas Strip, neon and glowing, even during the day. It suited for a place to stay while they figured out the case at hand.

Sloane had taken it upon herself to figure out where the UNSUB was getting ready to strike next after getting assigned to the job by Sterling. She had worked for hours writing in marker on the wide windows that would look like gibberish to most people. A Fibonacci spiral she had called it. It lead in a circle of each perfected point that would show where the next person would die. The dates even lined up with it.

She didn’t let up after that. Day after day, she looked over her work in hopes of doing something more. Something better. Something useful. Something to put herself to work to avoid the looming feelings of her absent father suddenly appearing at the casino they were staying at.

A new clue came up. It didn’t fit into the spiral. The thing Sloane had held onto. It had been sloppy, unlike the other murders, and the supposed killer had been caught red handed in the act writing numbers on the persons wrist. Beau.

This newfound revolution in the case meant Sloane was back at work. She stared at the red writing that seemed to haunt her, a marker in her hand and the cap held precariously in her mouth.