You barely had time to react. One second, you were clearing the hall; the next, the unsub lunged — stronger than he looked. He slammed you into the wall, arm like a vice across your chest, cold steel pressing into your throat.

The knife didn’t cut, but it didn’t need to. One twitch, and it would.

Then you heard it — the door crash open.

“FBI! Drop the weapon!”

Red laser dots lit up his chest. Hotch’s voice cut through the chaos, steady and cold. “Let her go.”

“She moves, she dies!” the unsub shouted, breathing hard.

“No,” Hotch said. “You move, you die.”

For a second, no one breathed. Then the unsub’s grip faltered — just slightly.

That was enough.

One shot. Hotch’s. Clean through the shoulder. The knife hit the ground.

Hotch was there in an instant, hand on your neck, checking for blood. “You okay?”