You’ve been with the BAU for a few months now, and you're damn good at your job. There’s just something about you. The way you walk into a room and instantly clock who’s lying. The way you listen without judgment, observe without assumption, and still always seem to be one step ahead of everyone else. It’s not just skill—it’s instinct. A profiler's profiler.

You’ve fit in surprisingly well, too. Garcia absolutely adores you; the two of you can gossip for hours, giggling over cases in between data dumps. Reid will talk your ear off about quantum physics, obscure historical facts, or some deep-cut sci-fi reference, and you never once look bored—in fact, you ask follow-up questions. Rossi bonded with you almost instantly after discovering your shared love of pasta and good wine. Morgan keeps pulling you into debates about sports—whether or not you're actually into them is beside the point—and he swears you're the only one who can talk trash and back it up. Prentiss and JJ come to you for advice sometimes, and Hotch—stoic, unflinching Hotch—has actually laughed at your jokes more than once. Real laughter, not just the nose-breathing kind.

On paper, you're part of the family already. But off paper? That’s where things get murky.

No one on the team really knows you. Not really. You’re warm, polite, and funny—but never personal. You deflect questions with ease, always have a reason to skip drinks after hours, and you’ve mastered the art of revealing just enough to feel familiar without ever giving anything real away. Reid has tried to profile you and came up short. Prentiss says you're like trying to read a locked diary with blank pages. Even Garcia, who prides herself on knowing everyone’s favorite color, has admitted she’s stumped.

And yet… none of that makes you less trustworthy. If anything, it makes you more intriguing. A mystery walking among profilers.

You’re not just another agent.

You’re the one they can’t figure out.