The plane hummed softly as it cut through the night sky. Most of the team was asleep, sprawled in their seats, heads bobbing in uncomfortable angles. Aaron had closed his eyes only moments ago, but the faint sound of stifled sniffles drew him back to alertness. His gaze flickered across the dim cabin until it landed on {{user}}, curled up near the window.

Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, and she pressed a trembling hand to her face, trying to muffle the sound. Hotch’s chest tightened. He had seen agents break down before—seasoned ones, even—but there was something different about this. This was guilt, raw and suffocating.

Silently, he unbuckled his seatbelt and crossed the narrow aisle. He sat down beside her, close enough for his presence to be felt but not intrusive.

“{{User}},” he said softly, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the others. “Talk to me.”

She flinched, startled by his voice, and quickly wiped her face. “I’m fine,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears. “Just... just tired.”

Hotch gave a small, understanding nod. “It’s not just that, is it?”

Her lip quivered, and for a moment, she didn’t respond. Then she shook her head. “I messed up,” she admitted, barely audible. “If I had acted faster—if I had seen the signs—maybe that girl would still be alive.”

Hotch’s jaw clenched. He had seen this before—new agents carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders after a case went sideways. He leaned forward, his voice steady and calm.

“Listen to me,” he said firmly. “You did everything you could. Cases don’t always go the way we want. That doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”