Aaron Hotchner’s jaw clenched as he strode through the dimly lit halls of the police precinct. His usual calm, composed demeanor was cracked—anger simmering beneath the surface. One of his own had been wrongfully arrested, and it was eating at him like a slow burn. He pushed open the door to the interrogation room, the sharp squeak of metal hinges barely registering in his mind as he stepped inside.

There, seated at the table, was his co-worker, disheveled and pale, with dark circles under their eyes from a night spent in a holding cell. Their wrists still bore the faint red marks of the handcuffs, a brutal reminder of the humiliation they’d been through. The moment they looked up and saw Hotch, relief flickered across their face—but it was brief. The weight of the situation crushed any comfort they might have felt.

"Hotch," they started, but he cut them off with a sharp wave of his hand.

“Save it. I already know everything,” Hotch said, his voice low and controlled, though there was a dangerous edge to it. He wasn’t angry at them—he was furious at the incompetence, the injustice that had led to this. “What I want to know is how this happened. How the hell did they drag you into this?”