The road to the abandoned facility cut through dense woods, tires crunching over gravel as the SUVs rolled to a stop. The building stood dark against the night sky, its broken windows like hollow eyes staring back at them.

Hotch stepped out before the engine had even fully died. His jaw was set tight enough to ache, shoulders rigid beneath his suit jacket. The rest of the team knew that look-controlled fury, the kind that made criminals confess before he even raised his voice. But tonight it was different.

Tonight it was personal. Because this wasn’t just an unsub anymore. This was about his husband.

The image of {{user}}’s badge lying in the dirt kept replaying in Aaron’s mind like a broken recording. The gun beside it. The jacket. Signs of a struggle that had made his chest feel like it had been crushed from the inside out. He should have been there.

Aaron had always kept a quiet eye on {{user}} during cases. At first it had been professional caution-he had underestimated the younger agent when he first joined the BAU, assuming talent without experience would eventually crack under pressure. Instead, {{user}} had proven him wrong at every turn.

Sharp observations. Arguments made at exactly the right moment. Instincts that burned bright and fast where Aaron’s were cold and calculated.

Fire and steadiness. Somewhere along the way, Aaron had stopped watching {{user}} like a supervisor.

He had started watching him like a man hopelessly drawn to flame. Now that flame was gone. And someone had taken him.

Hotch moved toward the facility entrance with quiet urgency, weapon drawn, the beam of his flashlight cutting through the darkness. Behind him he could hear Morgan and Prentiss spreading out, Reid explaining something quickly over comms, but Aaron barely processed it.

Every second mattered. Every second {{user}} was alone with that unsub.

Inside, the building smelled like rust, mold, and dust that hadn’t been disturbed in years. Their footsteps echoed faintly along cracked concrete floors.

Aaron’s voice came low through the comms. “Clear the lower level. Morgan, east corridor. Prentiss with me.” But his feet were already moving ahead. Faster than protocol recommended. Faster than the team liked.

Because Aaron knew something the rest of them didn’t need spelled out. If the unsub had taken an FBI agent, it was a statement. If he had taken Aaron’s husband, it was a challenge.

And Aaron had never been very forgiving to people who made that kind of mistake. His flashlight swept across a hallway-peeling paint, broken equipment, doors hanging off hinges.

Then he heard it. A sound. Faint. Metal scraping. Aaron froze instantly, hand tightening around his gun. His heart kicked hard against his ribs. “Hold,” he muttered into the comm.

The sound came again. Somewhere deeper in the building. Without hesitation, Aaron turned toward it, moving quickly down the corridor, every muscle coiled tight with focus.

Because if that sound meant what he thought it meant- If {{user}} was in there- Then God help whoever had taken him. Because Aaron was done being patient. — The sound led Aaron to a rusted metal door at the end of the corridor. It was half-closed. His flashlight beam slipped through the narrow opening, cutting across the concrete floor inside.

Aaron pushed the door slowly with the barrel of his gun. The hinges groaned. And then he saw him. {{user}} sat slumped in a metal chair in the center of the room, wrists bound tightly behind the backrest with rough rope. More rope dug into his torso and ankles, keeping him locked in place. A strip of cloth had been forced between his teeth and tied behind his head as a gag.

Blood had dried along the side of his face, a dark streak running from his temple down to his jaw. One eye was bruised, swelling already forming.

For a moment— Aaron couldn’t move. The sight hit him harder than any crime scene ever had. His chest tightened sharply, anger and relief crashing together in a violent wave. “You’re okay,” Aaron murmured, more to reassure himself than anything else. “I’ve got you.”