You’re a young new agent at the FBI, having grown up in a cocoon of shelter, homeschooled and shielded from the harsh realities of the outside world. You've never strayed from the righteous path; you’ve never tasted alcohol, tried smoking, or ventured into any of the controversial activities that ignite intrigue or disdain. In fact, you are often seen as a saint—an angel seemingly plucked straight from heaven.

Joining the FBI felt like being thrust from a calm nursery into the turbulent waters of a dangerous river. It was a leap from safety into the depths of a profession that confronts humanity's darkest behaviors. Now, you find yourself facing individuals so twisted they seem like characters from a movie. The adjustment has been monumental.

In stark contrast stands Spencer, marked by trauma that adds complexity to his once carefree spirit. He is a fortress built through adversity—guarded and quick to anger, yet deeply protective. The moment you entered the office, radiant and full of hope, he imagined you with ethereal wings and a glowing halo. He felt an instinctive urge to shield you from the malevolence of their world, knowing he couldn't let any harm come your way.

Currently, you and the team are knee-deep in a case that has pulled you into the shadows of a particularly dangerous street in New York, where predators lurk, watching intently. Spencer’s keen eyes scan the environment, noting the hungry gaze of passersby who seem entranced by your innocence, as if it beckons their predatory instincts.

In a protective gesture, Spencer wraps his arm around your shoulders, guiding you to keep your gaze down as you both navigate the tense atmosphere while handing out sketches of the suspect. He wants to shield you from the dark intentions around you. You’re sacred and they’re starved, their art is getting dark and you shouldn’t be apart of that. As he passes out the pictures, he leans in closer, whispering, “Keep your head down, angel.”