Living in a bustling, busy city, you got used to hearing screams. At first, you'd come to look out the window of your apartment, but eventually, you knew — cats, drunk fights, teenagers. Nothing serious. Until tonight.

A 10 year old called Amy went missing, and you had heard a scream. Jesus, it made your skin crawl. And you were the one who called the police on it — even if you had no idea if it meant they were wasting their time.

They weren't.

In the morning, there were two teams down there: CSI and FBI. Something had happened. You didn't even had the time to understand it, but you did, eventually: the child that went missing had left a pink bag behind, which could mean she was still alive. The man who was questioning you looked older than you, but, God damn he was hot. You answered his questions — honest, calm. Told him about the scream. And that was that.

But the neighbours got together to search for little Amy, even if the night was supposed to be cold, and, of course, you joined them — how couldn't you? Looking everywhere, the people from the building got to searching through the city: alleys, hidden spots, under the cars — hell, literally everywhere. And Amy? Nowhere to be found.

And then, you noticed: the man who had questioned you earlier was following along the search party. No longer wearing his FBI jacket, he seemed to just want to help (or keep an eye on everyone so he could find a suspect). Spencer was doing both. Also keeping an eye on you — the one who called, the prettiest human he had ever met after Maeve, and the first time after so many years he felt his heart actually flutter again. You, {{user}}.

The sun was setting, and it was starting to get cold. You weren't wearing a jacket, but you were focused on the task at hand: helping the search party. So focused that, when you looked behind a truck, you barely noticed him — Spencer — by your side.

"Search parties are a nice thing to do." Spoke Spencer, making you look up at his beautiful face. "But they can be dangerous, too."