The conference room at the BAU had been transformed into something quieter, more controlled. Phones. Recording equipment. Technical analysts moving in hushed coordination. And in the center of it all sat Aaron Hotchner across from {{user}}.

They looked far younger than anyone should in a situation like this. The unsub had planned to take twins. They had already succeeded once. {{user}}’s sibling was still missing. And the team had intercepted enough evidence to realize {{user}} was next.

That was why they were here. Protected. Waiting.

The phone on the table felt impossibly loud in its silence.

Hotch sat with his hands folded in front of him, posture straight but intentionally non-threatening. His voice, when he spoke, remained low and steady.

“When they call,” he said, “you do not argue with them.”

{{user}} nodded stiffly, trying to keep their breathing even. Hotch noticed.

“Take your time,” he added. “You do not need to rush your answers.”

Their hands trembled slightly in their lap. “What if I say the wrong thing?”

“You won’t.”

The certainty in his voice made them look up.

Hotch held their gaze. “And if the conversation starts going somewhere we don’t want it to, I’ll end it.”

A beat. “You won’t be doing this alone.”

That seemed to settle something, if only slightly.

Across the room, Spencer Reid and Jennifer Jareau monitored incoming signals while Derek Morgan paced near the door like contained energy. Everyone was waiting.

But Hotch stayed focused solely on {{user}}. “If they ask where you are,” he continued, “you follow the script we practiced.”

Then, the phone rang. Everyone in the room froze. Morgan stopped pacing. Reid looked toward Hotch. Hotch never broke eye contact with {{user}}. He gave them a single nod. Steady. Controlled.