It was late afternoon, and you were sitting at a café downtown. The place was bustling with the usual crowd of people on their way home from work, students studying, and tourists snapping photos. It was a normal day, the kind where nothing too eventful seemed to happen.

But as you glanced up, something caught your attention—a man standing just outside the café. He looked a little out of place, standing by himself, his gaze sharp and analytical as he scanned the people passing by.

Then, as if sensing your gaze, he turned and looked directly at you—Brian Zeller.

You recognized him from news reports—he was part of the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit, often working on high-profile murder cases. You’d seen his face enough times to know he wasn’t just any passerby. Something about his demeanor, the tension in his posture, told you he wasn’t here for coffee.

For a moment, you debated looking away, pretending you hadn’t noticed him. But curiosity got the better of you, and before you knew it, he was walking toward you.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, his voice calm but with an undertone of something more—something professional, cautious.