{{user}} sat at her desk, flipping through the stack of mail that had been dropped off that morning. Most of it was routine—case files, reports, a few interdepartmental memos. But one envelope stood out.

No return address. No markings. Just her name.

Her brow furrowed as she turned it over in her hands. The paper felt slightly rough, like it had been handled too much. A gut feeling told her something was off, but she pushed it aside. It wasn’t unusual for evidence or anonymous tips to arrive by mail.

Carefully, she slid her letter opener under the seal, pulling the flap open.

The moment she unfolded the contents, a fine white powder burst into the air.

Her breath caught. Time seemed to stop.

The particles swirled in the light, and in that instant, dread clawed its way up her spine.

Anthrax. Ricin. Anything.

Her training kicked in. She jerked back in her chair, heart hammering as she forced herself not to breathe in. But it was too late. She had already inhaled.

Across the bullpen, Tony’s head snapped up. “{{user}}?”

She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Her body felt locked in place, muscles frozen in sheer panic.

Gibbs was on his feet in an instant. He took one look at her face, at the way she was sitting so still, at the open envelope on her desk and he knew.

“Everyone move!” Gibbs barked, voice sharp as a blade. “Now!”

The room erupted.

McGee lunged for the alarm, slamming his palm against the emergency button. A loud klaxon blared through the building, sealing off the floor as biohazard protocols engaged.

“{{user}}, look at me.” Gibbs ordered, stepping toward her.

She did. Her breathing was too fast, too shallow. Her hands trembled on the desk. “Boss...”

“Don’t move.” Gibbs interrupted. “Don’t touch anything.”

She nodded. She knew the protocol. Knew not to wipe at the powder on her hands, knew not to stand, knew that every second counted.