The bullpen is louder than usual when I walk in.
Morgan is leaning over Garcia’s desk. Rossi stands beside him. JJ has her arms folded while Garcia looks like she’s seconds away from exploding with information.
Which means something happened.
I drop my bag on my desk and walk over.
“Okay,” I say, adjusting my glasses. “Someone tell me who finally tracked her down.”
The conversation stops immediately.
Morgan and JJ exchange a look.
Garcia suddenly looks less enthusiastic.
Hotch steps out of his office.
“You’re referring to Cat Adams.”
“Yes.”
The name alone tightens something in my chest.
“She resurfaced two months ago,” I continue. “Which means someone had to locate her again. Given the resources involved it was likely a joint task force or—”
“Reid.”
Hotch cuts the explanation short.
“That wasn’t the BAU.”
I blink.
“…what?”
Hotch walks toward Garcia’s monitors.
“The arrest didn’t come from behavioral analysis.”
He pauses.
“It came from a tactical unit.”
Morgan leans back against the desk, watching my reaction carefully.
“Which tactical unit?” I ask.
Hotch answers calmly.
“Hostage Rescue Team.”
My brain immediately starts processing the implications. High-risk apprehension. Tactical entry. That means Cat didn’t surrender.
Which means—
Hotch finishes the sentence.
“Chief Hale brought her in.”
For a moment my brain stops.
“…Cynthia?”
Garcia nods slowly.
“Yep.”
Morgan rubs the back of his neck.
“Pretty boy…”
Hotch gestures to Garcia’s monitor.
“Penelope.”
Garcia sighs and taps a key.
Security footage fills the screen.
A federal detention corridor.
Two agents escort someone down the hallway in an orange jumpsuit.
Cat Adams.
My stomach tightens.
The escort agents stop outside an interrogation room.
Then another figure steps into frame.
Black tactical vest.
Radio on her shoulder.
Platinum hair tied back.
Chief Hale of HRT Unit.
Even through the grainy footage the authority is unmistakable.
Cat notices her immediately.
The smirk appears.
Hotch folds his arms.
“Watch.”
The agents release Cat’s arms.
For half a second it looks like a mistake.
Then Hale moves.
Fast.
One hand grabs Cat by the collar.
The other slams her hard against the concrete wall beside the interrogation room.
The impact is brutal.
Morgan lets out a low whistle.
“Damn.”
Hale leans in close, saying something the camera can’t hear.
Cat’s expression changes instantly.
The footage cuts.
Back to the hallway.
The agents drag Cat toward the interrogation room.
Garcia clears her throat.
“So… funny thing.”
No one speaks.
She taps another key.
“The camera inside the interrogation room mysteriously stopped recording for about thirty seconds.”
Morgan raises an eyebrow.
“Thirty seconds.”
Garcia nods.
“Which is also roughly the amount of time it would take for someone to acquire a cracked rib.”
JJ looks at the screen.
“…Cat had a broken rib?”
Garcia shrugs.
“Medical report says yes.”
Morgan smirks faintly.
“And somehow the cameras missed it.”
Garcia spreads her hands.
“Technology is mysterious.”
No one laughs.
Because my brain is still replaying the first part of the footage.
Hale walking into that hallway.
The moment Cat saw her.
Morgan glances at me.
“You good?”
I stare at the paused frame on the screen.
Cynthia Hale standing in that hallway like judgment itself.
“She went after her,” I say quietly.
Hotch nods once.
“Yes.”
Morgan exhales.
“Yeah.”
I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose.
Because the conclusion is painfully obvious.
“She found out what Cat did.”
Garcia’s voice softens.
“Yeah, honey.”
“And she hunted her down.”
The bullpen falls quiet.
Morgan watches me carefully.
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
Another pause.
Then Morgan sighs.
“Yeah… she did that for you.”
I stare at the screen a moment longer.
Because the realization settles heavily in my chest.
Even after everything…
the woman I walked away from was still the one who went to war for me.