The Las Vegas Metro PD was packed. The task force had been working nonstop, bringing in single mothers across the city to warn them about the unsub. Dozens had come through already, but none had useful information.

Spencer was exhausted. The unsub targeted single mothers with children under five, women living alone, who had recently changed their routine. The killings had escalated—if they didn’t stop him soon, someone else would die.

He was reviewing case notes when Hotch called out, “Another one just came in.”

Spencer barely looked up.

Then he heard your voice.

“Can we make this quick? I have a very opinionated toddler and exactly zero time for nonsense.”

His head snapped up.

And there you were.

A decade had passed, but he’d know you anywhere. Only now, you had a toddler balanced on your hip.

Your gaze swept the room until you spotted him. Recognition flickered, followed by something sharper.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” you muttered.

Spencer’s brain short-circuited. You had a kid.

Sometime in the last ten years—while he’d been drowning in casework, prison, everything that had consumed him—you’d been living.

“Spencer?” You said his name like an insult.

His mouth finally worked. “You have a child.”

You huffed. “Wow, excellent observation. What gave it away? The actual child in my arms?”

“Mommy, I want juice,” the little girl whined.

“I know, sweetheart,” you murmured, rubbing her back.

Spencer’s chest tightened.

“You know her?” Hotch asked.

Spencer forced himself to focus. “Yeah. We—used to be friends.”

You exhaled. “I haven’t noticed anything. Can I go?”

“We want to be careful,” Hotch said. “You live alone?”

“Obviously,” you deadpanned. “Not exactly rolling in applicants for the stepdad position.”

Spencer winced.

“You changed your routine recently?”

You hesitated. “Yeah. New work hours. Hired a sitter. That’s it.”

Spencer’s stomach turned.

It fit the pattern.

You fit the pattern.

“They both need protection. I can stay with them.” he said immediately.