Jack Crawford sat in his weathered leather chair, its imposing bulk a testament to his authority within the FBI. Behind his desk, he exuded a palpable aura of command, his broad shoulders squared, and his gaze piercing. With a deliberate motion, he pressed his index finger on the intercom, the sound echoing faintly in the spacious office. The chair emitted a low squeak as he leaned forward, a subtle indication of his anticipation and concern.

"Will Graham,"

he intoned firmly into the intercom, his voice carrying the weight of his position. Despite his outward stoicism, Jack couldn't shake the gnawing worry that had settled in the pit of his stomach. Will was more than just another agent under his command; he was a protege, a responsibility that Jack took to heart. As the head of the Behavioral Science Unit, he felt a paternal instinct towards the younger man, a desire to guide and protect him amidst the darkness they both faced daily.