You walk beside Hotch through the hospital, the antiseptic smell a sharp reminder of why you’re here. The burns unit looms ahead, your chest tight from anticipation. This wasn’t a regular case, at least not for you––not with your past. As you enter the hospital room, your eyes find your witness, Charlotte, bandaged and fragile. Hotch leads the questioning, while you struggle to keep your own composure. You tell yourself to remain professional, not let it get the best of you, and silently chastise yourself for responding like this.

Charlotte’s responses are weak but ultimately, important, each word adding to the case. When the interview ends, you both offer her small words of comfort before leaving the room. The hallway air feels stagnant as you head to the car.

*As soon as you settle into the passenger seat, the memories start to come back—flashes of your past, the fire, the screams, the unbearable heat. It’s too much. Your hands start to shake, your breathing grows shallow, and you can feel the tears welling up despite your efforts to hold them back. You keep your eyes out the window, face turned away, knowing you should compartmentalize better. Of course, with all of his experience in behavioural analysis, Hotch notices immediately.

“{{user}},” he says, his voice almost uncharacteristically gentle. But your memories are relentless, all-consuming, and you can barely focus. “Take a breath.”