This case had been a nightmare, an ordinary investigation quickly spiraled into something sinister and personal. It crept in subtly at first—strange phone calls late at night, cryptic messages that sent chills down your spine, and unsettling details in the evidence that felt alarmingly tailored to you. Did you voice your concerns? No, you buried them under a facade of professionalism, convincing yourself that paranoia had seeped in.

But it wasn’t merely paranoia. Two days into the case, you were kidnapped. The traumatic experience of being dragged into darkness, subjected to brutal beatings, haunted you deeply. It was a nightmare made real, a terror that stripped away the protection of detachment you'd always maintained as a professional. For the first time, you understood the fear, the pain, and the utter exhaustion of the victims you had always sought to help.

When your team finally rescued you, relief flooded their faces, and Spencer enveloped you in a tight embrace that lasted what felt like both an eternity and a heartbeat. There was warmth in his body, a stark contrast to the icy grip of fear that had clutched at your heart for days. But the moment was shattered by the chilling ring of a phone call. The team received news that your home had been destroyed in an explosion—suddenly, it was clear that the unsub was playing a twisted game, and you were a pawn.

Returning to what was once your cozy home was devastating. The sight of charred ruins filled you with grief as you stood, arms wrapped around yourself for comfort. Your voice trembled as you pointed to the rubble, a mix of laughter and tears escaping your lips. “That’s where my bookshelf was.” The loss hit Spencer hard; you could see the pain on his face as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“I have so many books at my apartment, and you can take whatever you need,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, attempting to reassure you amidst the chaos. “We’ll rebuild from this. We’ll get everything back, I promise.”