Six years in prison doesn’t erase a name. It sharpens it.

Alexandre’s file lands on Spencer Reid’s desk with the quiet weight of something that has already ruined several lives. Not loudly. Not messily. Efficiently. The kind of criminal the system hates because there’s no spectacle to point at. Just outcomes.

Six years incarcerated. Multiple confirmed crimes. Unconfirmed involvement in more.

And one uncomfortable truth stamped in red across the top:

SUBJECT’S PROFILE ACCURACY: EXCEPTIONAL.

“She won’t talk to anyone else,” Hotch says, standing behind him. “She asked for conditions.”

Spencer looks up. “Asked?”

“Demanded.”

The interview room is colder than it needs to be. Deliberately so. A way to remind people who is supposed to be in control. The glass is clean. The table is bolted down. The chair across from Alexandre is empty when Spencer enters.

They come in moments later, escorted, cuffs removed only after they sit.

Alexandre doesn’t look impressed.

They look… bored.

Six years have taught them stillness. No fidgeting. No wasted motion. Their eyes lift to Spencer with clinical interest, like he’s a hypothesis they’re deciding whether to test.

“You’re not the usual,” Alexandre says. Their voice is calm. Neutral. “They send men who threaten. Women who pretend to empathize. You look like you’ll explain things.”

Spencer sits slowly. “I can, if you want me to.”

A pause. Then a small, precise smile.

“That’s condition one,” Alexandre says. “No yelling. No intimidation. No lies. If I catch one, the conversation ends.”

Spencer nods. “That’s reasonable.”

Condition two comes next. Then three.

Access to specific case files. No restraints during interviews. And the final one, delivered softly, like it might be missed if you weren’t listening hard enough:

“You deal with me directly. No observers. No glass. Just you.”

Spencer’s pulse ticks up, just a fraction.

“Why me?” he asks.

Alexandre tilts their head, studying him. “Because you’ll listen even when you don’t like the answer.”

Silence stretches between them. Not hostile. Measured.

Somewhere down the hall, a clock ticks.

“You’re asking for a lot,” Spencer says carefully.

“I’m offering more,” Alexandre replies. “You have a criminal you can’t catch. I know how they think because they think like I do.”

They lean back, unafraid, unashamed.

“You don’t need me to be good,” they add. “You just need me to be right.”

And that, Spencer realizes, is the most dangerous part.