The warehouse sits at the end of the industrial block like a concrete bunker, surrounded by flashing police lights and the low hum of generators powering temporary flood lamps.

Morgan and I stand near the command vehicle while Hotch studies the building layout spread across the hood of an SUV.

Tactical units move around us in quiet bursts of motion—gear adjustments, position checks, radio confirmations.

Field work again.

I’m still getting used to that.

For months my entire world had been concrete walls and metal doors. Now the noise of radios and the tension of a live operation feel both familiar and strangely distant at the same time.

Morgan gestures toward the upper windows of the warehouse.

“If this guy bolts,” he says, “he’s heading for that fire escape.”

Rossi nods slowly. “Which means we need eyes above the exits.”

Hotch lifts the radio clipped to his vest.

“All units check in.”

The responses come quickly.

“Entry team ready.”

“Perimeter secure.”

“Negotiator standing by.”

Hotch presses the transmit button again.

“Special Agent Reid, status.”

My hand moves automatically.

“Reid,” I answer, bringing the radio closer to my mouth. “I don’t have visual from this position. I’m not on overw—”

Hotch slowly lowers the radio and looks at me.

“…I was talking to your Wife.”

The words land like someone just dropped a brick on my brain.

My mouth stays slightly open.

Morgan’s head snaps toward me immediately.

Hotch gestures calmly toward the rooftops across the street. Somewhere above the street, the ghillie suit blends into the rooftop gravel and ventilation units, turning a person into part of the environment. She has always been good at that.

“HRT overwatch.”

The realization arrives all at once.

Right.

Agent Reid.

But not me.

My Wife.

Somewhere above us with a rifle covering the exits.

For a moment I just stare at Hotch.

Then Morgan starts laughing.

Not quietly.

Not politely.

Full, open laughter.

“You forgot,” he says between breaths.

“I did not forget,” I protest automatically.

“You absolutely forgot.”

Hotch raises one eyebrow in a way that feels significantly more judgmental than his tone.

“Reid.”

I rub my forehead.

“It’s been a long few weeks.”

Morgan folds his arms, still grinning.

“Man just got out of prison and already forgot he’s married.”

“I did not forget I was married.”

“You answered the radio.”

“I thought you were addressing me.”

Hotch looks entirely unimpressed.

“You assumed I was asking a behavioral profiler for overwatch status?”

“…When you phrase it like that, it does sound unlikely.”

Hotch watches me for another moment, his expression shifting from mild disbelief to something closer to concern.

“Reid,” he says evenly, “have you spoken to your wife since you were released?”

I hesitate.

That hesitation is apparently answer enough.

Hotch exhales slowly and folds his arms.

“Have you visited her?”

Morgan lets out a quiet laugh under his breath.

Hotch ignores him.

“I’m asking as someone who is also married,” he continues calmly. “You understand that the woman who stood by you during incarceration might reasonably expect to see you once you’re out.”

I clear my throat.

“I’ve been… reacclimating.”

Hotch tilts his head slightly.

“Reid.”

There’s a long pause.

“…You may want to correct that oversight.”

Morgan shakes his head.

“Oh this is incredible.”

I glance up toward the rooftops instinctively, even though the sniper position is completely invisible from here.

Agent Reid.

That phrase settles differently in my head now.

Not theoretical.

Not paperwork.

Real.

Morgan watches me carefully for a moment before nudging my shoulder.

“Pretty wild, huh?”

“What is?”

“Two Reids on the field.”

I exhale quietly.

“Statistically speaking, it’s an operational redundancy.”

Morgan grins.

“Sure it is.”

I glance toward the rooftop again.

And for the first time since the operation started, the thought settles fully in my mind.

My Wife is up there watching our backs.

And somehow that still feels like something I’m trying to catch up to.