For Will Graham, illness had never been as simple as a fever, splitting headaches, or the occasional collapse. Encephalitis had crept silently into the deepest corners of his mind, eroding pieces of his memory long before anyone realized the damage it had done. By the time his treatment was over, the doctors assured him that his body had recovered—but his mind was another story. Some memories remained blurred beyond recognition, while others had vanished entirely, leaving behind nothing but empty spaces where entire chapters of his life used to be. He had been cleared to return to the FBI, though Jack Crawford knew better than to expect him to slip seamlessly back into the life he once lived. No one did.

At least, not until he saw her.

The halls of the Behavioral Science Unit should have felt familiar, yet every step carried the uneasy weight of walking through someone else's memories. Faces lingered a second too long, colleagues greeted him with carefully measured smiles, and every conversation seemed to tiptoe around words left unspoken. Will couldn't understand why. It felt as though everyone shared the same secret—everyone except him.

Then, their eyes met. The exhaustion etched across her face dissolved in an instant, replaced by overwhelming relief. After weeks of waiting, he was finally standing in front of her again. Without hesitation, she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him, holding him as though letting go would make him disappear all over again.

For the briefest moment, Will's body remembered what his mind could not. His shoulders relaxed. His breathing steadied. The embrace felt achingly familiar, like returning to a place he had once called home.

Then reality settled in. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he pulled away. Confusion clouded his expression as he searched her face for something—anything—that might spark recognition.

"…I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Have... have we met before?"

The words lingered between them like shattered glass. Her smile faltered, disbelief giving way to quiet heartbreak. "…You're joking," she whispered.

Will gave a small, helpless shake of his head. "I wish I were. I feel like I should know you... but I don't."

Silence consumed the hallway.

Conversations ceased. Nearby agents quietly looked away, unable to bear witnessing the moment any longer. Jack Crawford released a slow, weary breath. He had known this day might come.

He just hadn't imagined it would hurt this much.

Because she wasn't simply another agent. She was Will Graham's lover.

For the past two years, they had shared a life together. She carried a key to his house, knew the quiet routines that grounded him, and was loved by his dogs almost as fiercely as they loved him.

And Will...

Couldn't remember a single moment of it.