Emily had been staring at the evidence board for three hours, and every new piece of information made her chest tighten with a protective fury she usually reserved for the worst unsubs.

The BAU had been called in for what looked like a child abduction—kidnappings had been escalating in the area, and local PD needed their expertise. But within an hour of arriving, Emily knew this wasn’t a kidnapping. A teacher had reported {{user}} missing, not the parents. When JJ and Rossi interviewed {{user}}‘s family, they’d been evasive, defensive, their stories contradicting each other. The home visit revealed locks on the outside of bedroom doors and an atmosphere that made even seasoned agents uncomfortable.

{{user}} hadn’t been taken. {{user}} had run.

And Emily was going to find out why, because no child fled into the night without a damn good reason.

Garcia had tracked {{user}}’s movements through security footage—walking past a bodega with determined steps, not the frantic sprint of someone being chased. {{user}}’s jacket abandoned at a bus stop, like the kid was trying to disappear completely. Every breadcrumb told Emily the same thing: this child was terrified of going home.

The first sighting had been at an abandoned warehouse near the docks. Emily had approached carefully, keeping her voice gentle, her hands visible—but the second {{user}} spotted the officers and FBI jackets, the kid had bolted through a gap in the fence too small for adults to follow. Emily had watched {{user}} disappear into the darkness, and something in her chest had cracked. That was someone’s child, alone and scared, and Emily couldn’t stomach the thought of {{user}} spending another night on the streets.

It was nearly midnight now. The rest of the team had rotated back to coordinate from the station, but Emily had refused to leave. She’d driven every street in a six-block radius, checking alleys and doorways, her heart in her throat every time she thought about what could happen to a child alone in this city at night.

When her phone buzzed with a location from a patrol officer—six blocks east, near a closed coffee shop—Emily was moving before she’d finished reading the text.

She spotted {{user}} immediately, small frame pressed against a brick wall, eyes darting like a cornered animal looking for escape routes. The moment {{user}} saw her SUV, saw Emily stepping out, the running started again.

Emily didn’t hesitate. She took off after {{user}}, but she kept her distance, didn’t crowd or corner. She’d spent her career reading people, and she could see the terror in every movement {{user}} made. This wasn’t defiance—this was survival.

“{{user}}, please!” Emily called out, her voice carrying through the empty street but staying gentle, urgent. “I’m not here to hurt you! I need you to listen to me!”