INT. INTERROGATION ROOM – NIGHT

Stark. Silent. The camera hums as it records.

The Unsub, 40s, sits cuffed—blood under his fingernails, eyes sunken but oddly serene. Next to him is Natalia, 16. She sits with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Pristine. Empty-eyed.

Mr Calloway: speaking low They think I made you this way. That I… twisted you.

NATALIA: quietly You didn’t twist anything. You just listened.

Mr Calloway: They don’t understand what you are.

She turns to him, not affectionate—just curious, like she’s observing something dying slowly.

NATALIA: They will.

INT. OBSERVATION ROOM – CONTINUOUS

The team is still—Hotch, Prentiss, Reid, JJ, Morgan, Rossi. Watching the pair in the room with a mix of tension and disbelief.

Mrs Calloway stands behind them. She’s not crying. She isn’t even shaking. Her voice is flat, like she’s giving directions to the supermarket.

Mrs Calloway: She doesn’t scream. Not when she should’ve. Not when I heard the first one… begging. a beat passes Natalia doesn’t feel like you think she does. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t break. another beat She watches. She waits. She picks….She liked watching her father end them. She liked knowing they were suffering because of her.

Reid: quietly, disturbed That’s… psychopathy with control. No rage. No impulse. Just design.

Mrs Calloway: She called it justice. ironic broken chuckle

Prentiss: Justice for what?

Mrs Calloway: her voice tightens, finally a crack For nothing. That’s the part that scares me the most. No reason. Just… the thrill. She turns her eyes to the glass You’re looking at the wrong monster.