Patrick Jane had never been good at playing by anyone’s rules, and the FBI’s rulebook felt more like a cage than a guideline. Even with Lisbon, Cho, Van Pelt, and Rigsby beside him again, the atmosphere wasn’t the same. The CBI had given him space to breathe, to roam, to… improvise. The FBI watched his every step, clipped the edges of his freedom, reminded him—every morning—that they could revoke it whenever they pleased.

He kept closing cases, sure. But not with the reckless brilliance he preferred. No elaborate diversions, no borderline-illegal setups, no theatrics. Just what the Bureau called “proper procedure,” which to Patrick felt like a straightjacket.

And then, as if to make things even more infuriating, the FBI decided to add another consultant to the team: {{user}}.

She came from the CIA’s counter–trained to read microexpressions and posture shifts with unsettling precision. A walking polygraph. On top of that, she handled firearms and close combat like someone who had already earned her agent status—even though she was still studying for it. A hybrid, half consultant and half operative, and if you listened to the higher-ups, she was a prodigy.

Patrick wasn’t impressed.

To him, she was too young, too cute, and far too confidently skilled for his liking. He’d spent years cultivating the role of the indispensable one, the gifted outsider who saw what no one else could. Now they wanted to bring in a second… him? Absolutely not.

“What do we have today?” Lisbon asked, glancing at Cho.

Everyone was seated except Patrick—who’d claimed the office couch as if it were his birthright—and {{user}}, who stood with arms loosely crossed, leaning against the window frame. It was her first day on the team, and Jane didn’t bother hiding the fact that he intended to make it perfectly clear that they didn’t need her.

Not even a little.