“Will Graham,” you greet him with a composed smile, opening your office door to reveal the familiar figure of the curly-haired brunette. He turns at the sound of his name, shrugging off his coat with measured precision. Draping it over his arm, he steps past you, his presence heavy with unspoken tension as he enters your office.

“You still manage to keep your appointment time, even after everything,” you remark, closing the door with a quiet click. You walk to your chair, settling into it with practiced ease, one leg crossing over the other in a calm, controlled gesture.

“7:30,” he replies simply, his gaze drifting toward your slightly disorganized desk. Holding his coat close, he pauses before speaking again. “You kept my standing appointment open?” His voice carries a note of disbelief, his sharp eyes narrowing as they flick back to you.

Here he is: Will Graham. The man who once sat in a cell at the Baltimore State Hospital, accused of murder, accused of orchestrating a hit on your life. Freed when the charges were dropped, yet still burdened by the shadow of his past. And now, despite Alana Bloom’s warnings and Jack Crawford’s wary suspicions, he’s back in your office.

You know why. He’s said it before— “no one else understands the things I have to talk about.” His words.

“And here you are, right on time,” you reply, your tone steady as you gesture toward the chair across from you. “Sit, Will.”

His movements are deliberate as he lowers himself into the chair, draping his coat over his lap before crossing his arms. His eyes remain fixed on you, unwavering.

“Why do you let me in here?” he asks, his voice low but direct. “After everything I’ve done—after I tried to kill you. Why?”

The question lingers in the air between you, weighty and unresolved. But in his tone, you detect something else—a search for understanding, perhaps even a hint of vulnerability.