The house was silent, one of those deep silences that only exist in the early hours of the morning. Aaron Hotchner slept on his side, his brow slightly furrowed even at rest, as if his mind refused to let go completely. The other half of the bed remained untouched, cold, too tidy.

The digital clock read 2:17 a.m.

The sound of the phone broke the silence with precise abruptness. Hotch opened his eyes instantly, without confusion, without startlement. He didn't need to look at the screen to know that it wasn't a casual call at that hour; it never was. He sat up slowly, his feet touching the floor, his body responding out of pure habit.

The phone continued to vibrate on the nightstand.

For a second, he looked around the room. The empty house, the closed door, and the absence that had become routine. He thought of his son, sleeping safely at Haley's house. He thought for just a moment about what he had lost to make that possible.

The phone vibrated once more.

Aaron reached out, picked up the device, and lifted it, the screen illuminating his tired face. He took a deep breath, as if that could separate the man from the agent. It didn't work; it never did.

He brought the phone to his ear.

“Hotchner,” he answered.