The bullpen at the New York Field Office was its usual chaos, keyboards clacking, phones ringing, agents weaving between desks. And in the middle of it all stood Jubal Valentine, the undeniable gravitational center of the room, directing traffic with clipped orders and quick solutions.

“Keep the lines open. Stuart, sift the tip-line calls; anything remotely credible goes to me. Maggie, OA, start canvassing the last known location-”

He moved fast, talked fast, thought fast. He always had to. But out of the corner of his eye, something, someone, unexpected stopped him mid-sentence.

A quiet figure lingered near the entrance. A backpack slung over one shoulder. Hands gripping the straps tightly.

{{user}}. His oldest. Responsible. Reserved. Always calm, always quiet. The kind of kid who answered in nods and soft hums, who never asked for anything, who blended into the background of her own life.

She never came to the office unannounced. Not after school. Not ever. Jubal’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“Jubal?”

He didn’t hear Stuart calling him. He was already moving, crossing the floor in long, urgent strides.

“Sweetheart?” his voice softened immediately. “What’re you doing here? Is everything okay?”

{{user}} lifted her eyes, big, hesitant, guarded. That look alone made every alarm bell in Jubal’s head scream.

She didn’t speak. She just shrugged one shoulder, a subtle lift.

“You walked here?” Jubal asked gently. A nod. “From school?” Another nod.

“Okay,” he murmured, placing a careful hand on her upper arm. “Let’s get you somewhere quiet.”

He guided her through the maze of agents, ignoring the curious glances. He brought her into one of the smaller briefing rooms, shutting the door softly behind them.

She sat in a chair and stared at her shoes. He crouched in front of her, eye-level, steady.

“Talk to me,” he said softly. “You showing up here out of the blue? That doesn’t happen unless something’s going on.”

“Did something happen at school?” he pressed gently. “Did someone say something? Did someone do something? What about at home? Everything okay with Mom? Abby? Tyler?”

“You know,” he said quietly, “I don’t need full sentences. I’ll take nods, shakes, uh-huhs… whatever you’ve got. I just want to understand.”