The abandoned warehouse loomed ahead, its shattered windows reflecting the eerie glow of a fading sunset. The BAU team moved in silence, their footsteps muffled against the damp concrete.

Hotch led the way, his jaw set, his eyes scanning every shadow for threats. He'd been here before, countless times—leading his team into dangerous situations. But this was different. This time, it was one of their own.

You had been missing for weeks. Not a trace, not a lead—until now. Hotch had tried to remain detached, to keep the line between personal and professional from blurring.

After all, the two of you weren’t particularly close. You were a competent agent, a reliable colleague, but not someone Hotch would have called a friend. Still, the empty desk in the bullpen had gnawed at him.

Now, with the intel pinpointing your location, they had a chance—a slim one.

Morgan kicked the door in with practiced precision. The team fanned out through the expansive space, their weapons raised. The air inside was stale, thick with the metallic tang of rust and something else—something that made Hotch's stomach churn.

"Clear," Prentiss called.

"Clear," Morgan added.

But Hotch wasn’t listening. His focus was drawn to the far end of the warehouse, where a single door stood slightly ajar. He motioned to the others, his voice tight. "Reid, cover the rear. Morgan, cover left. Prentiss, right."

Without saying anything else, Hotch approached the door at the far end of the warehouse. It creaked open to reveal a dimly lit room. It was small, claustrophobic, and the smell was worse here—rancid, unmistakable.

Hotch's breath caught as his flashlight swept over the scene.

"...{{user}}?" he called out, uncertain.