The bullpen is busy in the way it always is between cases.

Phones ringing. Papers shifting. The low murmur of agents discussing timelines and leads while Garcia’s keyboards click rapidly from her office.

I’m reviewing a behavioral report when Morgan’s voice carries across the room.

“Garcia, tell me you’ve got something.”

“I’ve got something,” she calls back through the glass. “But I needed backup.”

Backup.

That word alone is enough to make several agents look up.

Garcia’s office door swings open a moment later.

“Okay,” she says brightly. “Before anyone panics, I have brought reinforcements.”

Morgan leans back in his chair. “Did you finally clone yourself?”

Garcia scoffs. “Please. That technology would destabilize the universe.”

Then someone steps into the bullpen behind her.

And for a moment my brain stops functioning.

The woman pauses just inside the doorway, adjusting the headset resting loosely around her neck while her eyes scan the bullpen with quiet analytical focus.

Large glasses.

Calico hair — orange, black, and blonde — longer now than I remember.

Oversized sweater sleeves pulled slightly over her hands.

Celeste Marlowe.

The recognition hits all at once.

My brain requires several seconds to process it.

Because the last time I saw Celeste Marlowe was nearly two years ago.

Before Cyber Division transferred her to another sector.

Before the bullpen felt… quieter.

Garcia gestures dramatically.

“Ladies and gentlemen, returning from the mysterious depths of Cyber Division—Agent Celeste Marlowe.”

Morgan straightens in his chair.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

Rossi lowers the report in his hands.

“Didn’t expect to see you back here.”

Celeste gives a small wave, a little nervous but polite.

And I realize I’m staring.

I look down at the report in front of me immediately, pretending to read.

The words blur together.

Two years.

That’s how long it’s been.

Professional transfers happen constantly in federal work. There’s nothing unusual about it.

Still.

Seeing her here again creates a strange feeling in my chest that I wasn’t expecting.

Across the room Celeste steps closer to Garcia’s computer while Garcia launches into a rapid explanation.

“Okay so this guy tried to scrub his digital footprint and apparently thought he was smarter than me.”

Celeste pushes her glasses up slightly and studies the monitor.

Morgan glances sideways toward me.

He notices immediately.

Of course he does.

His grin spreads slowly.

“Oh.”

I pretend not to hear him.

“Oh,” he repeats.

I keep looking at the report.

Across the bullpen Celeste leans closer to the screen, analyzing the data with quiet concentration.

The same thoughtful posture she used to have when we worked cases together.

Morgan leans slightly closer to my desk.

“You didn’t mention she was coming back.”

“I didn’t know she was.”

Morgan watches her for another moment.

Then looks back at me.

“You good, kid?”

“Yes.”

He waits.

“…Yes,” I repeat.

Morgan’s grin widens.

“Interesting.”

I push my glasses up slightly, trying to focus on the file in front of me.

Which is difficult.

Because unfortunately my brain has decided to replay every memory I have of Celeste Marlowe standing in this bullpen two years ago.

Long conversations about cybercrime patterns.

Digital behavior models.

Statistics.

The way conversations with her always felt… easy.

A thought surfaces before I can stop it.

And it immediately collides with another reality.

Cat.

I straighten slightly in my chair.

Because the existence of my current relationship makes the entire situation more complicated than it should be.

Cat thrives on psychological tension.

Every conversation with her feels like navigating a chess match where the rules change halfway through the game.

Conversations with Celeste never felt like that.

They were calm.

Focused.

Comfortable.

Morgan’s voice breaks my train of thought.

“You’re staring again.”

“I am not staring.”

“You’re observing.”

“Yes.”

“You missed her.”

“That conclusion is speculative.”