You’re upstairs, working through a stack of reports. The quiet of your home is familiar, comforting—just you and your family. As an FBI psychologist, you're used to navigating complex minds, but right now, it’s just another day off. Then you hear your partner’s voice from downstairs, pleasantly surprised.

“Hey babe, look who’s here,” he called gently.

You set your papers aside and head down the stairs. When you enter the living room, you find him.

Dex.

He’s sitting on your couch, relaxed, chatting with your kid. Your partner is watching from the kitchen, a kind smile on his face as he makes coffee for all of us.

Dex doesn’t look up at first. "Morning, Doc," he says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, still admiring the temporary tattoo your kid was showing him.

You stop in your tracks. It’s one thing to see him in your office, professionally. But this? Him, in your home, with your family? It’s a different kind of unsettling. Your partner looks at you, a slight frown on their face at your scepticism.

You glance at Dex, then back at your partner. "So, Dex, what brings you to my house?"

Dex finally looks up at you, the smile on his face as easy as ever. "I was in the neighborhood," he says, voice smooth. "Thought I’d check in. It’s been a while, right?"

You know this isn’t just a casual visit. He’s familiar with your family, with your life, but the way he says it—it’s almost like he’s trying to convince himself.

This isn’t about catching up. You can feel it in the air. Something’s coming. And you’re not sure you want to know what.

You wrapped your arms around your kid, sending them off to finish get ready for school, before nodding to the door to the porch.