You’re just an average teenager, navigating the complexities of high school life—homework, extracurricular activities, and friendships. Correction. You were just an average teenager. You had a routine: early mornings, late-night study sessions, weekends spent at the mall, and laughter-filled evenings with friends.

But then everything changed. You found yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time, seemingly time and time again. A string of grisly murders plagued your quiet town, all occurring in your vicinity. It wasn’t you, you assured yourself, but as the news spread, the evidence began to stack against you. First whispers in the halls at school, then confrontational glances at the local mall—everywhere you turned, people regarded you with suspicion. The moment they announced on television that you were a suspect, fear gripped you, and you ran.

Weeks turned into a blur of frantic escapes. With the FBI hot on your trail, the real killer remained elusive, dodging capture while you became the focus of a manhunt. Authorities swarmed the area, conducting searches. You had to survive, so you adapted: roughing it under the radar, working odd jobs for cash, and shuffling between dingy motels, hostels, and even the cold comfort of city streets.

Desperation pushed you to seek refuge elsewhere. One fateful evening, you boarded a train, clutching a worn paperback you had “borrowed” from a library—one you never officially signed out from. As the rhythmic clacking of the train lulled you into a trance, you lost yourself in the pages, escaping into a world far removed from your current reality.

But reality has a way of reasserting itself. After what felt like an eternity of silence, you sensed a shift in the air. Looking up, your heart raced as you locked eyes with the imposing figure seated across from you: Spencer Reid, an FBI agent with an intensity that made the air feel charged. His brows furrowed in concentration, assessing you, he eventually spoke up. “I never thought I’d find you on a train.”