The BAU bullpen hummed with its usual late-night tension, keyboards clicking, printers whirring, the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. To most, it was background noise.

To Spencer Reid, it was data. He noticed patterns instinctively: posture shifts, micro-expressions, changes in breathing. And tonight, one pattern set his nerves on edge.

{{user}} hadn’t stopped working. Not once.

Reid sat a few desks away, pretending to review case files while his attention kept drifting back to her. He’d watched Strauss dump stack after stack of work onto her desk, tasks that should’ve been split between at least three people. Every time {{user}} shifted in her chair, Strauss’ gaze snapped toward her. When {{user}} stood earlier to reach for water, Strauss’ glare alone had sent her sitting back down, hand empty.

Reid’s mind ran the math automatically. Twelve hours. No visible food intake. No hydration. Elevated cognitive load. High stress environment. Probability of syncope increases significantly.

His chest tightened. He wanted to say something. Wanted to step in. But confrontation, especially with authority, tied his stomach in knots. He glanced toward Hotch’s office more than once, hoping someone else would intervene.

Still, nothing changed. Time crawled. The shift dragged toward its end. Then {{user}} stood.

Slowly. Carefully. Too carefully. She stretched her arms, rolling her shoulders, and Reid saw it instantly. The sway. The delayed reaction. The way her hand missed the desk edge on the first try.

“Oh no.” Reid breathed under his breath. Her knees buckled. Reid moved on instinct, not thought.

He was out of his chair in a heartbeat, catching her just as she pitched forward, his hands steadying her shoulders, his body bracing hers before she could hit the floor. “Hey, hey, I’ve got you,” he said quickly, voice low but urgent, eyes scanning her face. Pale. Dizzy. Disoriented.

Low blood sugar. Dehydration. Exactly as predicted. But this wasn’t a theory anymore. It was happening.

Reid’s jaw clenched as he looked up, straight at Erin Strauss. Something sharp and uncharacteristic flashed in his eyes.

“That’s enough,” he said, voice trembling not with fear, but anger, real, raw anger. “She’s been working nonstop for over twelve hours without food or water. This isn’t just unethical, it’s dangerous.”