" so, do you have
a girlfriend ? "

i. Agent beckett
7,129 Words

⭓ WASHINGTON, d.c. ≋ 6:00 PM

             JADE SAT IN STERILE, quiet interrogation room, her posture casual, almost bored, her fingers drumming absentmindedly against the cold metal table. She wasn't exactly stressed. In fact, it was almost laughable. She yawned, glancing around the small room, taking in every detail like it might come in handy later. The time ticked by. No pressure. Just another day in the life.

Her calm demeanor didn't last long, though. The door opened, and in walked Aaron Hotchner, Chief of the BAU. She recognized him instantly. He was the one she'd almost taken down in the club—didn't even blink when he stepped in, his presence like a chill filling the space.

"Aaron Hotchner," he said, his voice firm, unflinching. He placed a thick file onto the table between them and sat down. "Chief of the BAU."

Jade's lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "So that's what this is... the Behavioral Analysis Unit," she said, voice dripping with mild amusement. Her tone shifted to one of sheer indifference as she leaned back in her chair. "Let's cut this short. You're bringing in the wrong person. I have no idea what you're talking about or what I'm doing here."

Aaron didn't flinch at her words, his eyes steady, focused. He slid the file open, revealing photographs and documents. "You're directly connected to the Novus Ordo," he said, his voice steady and no-nonsense. "Along with the murders."

Jade shrugged, her expression unreadable. "Still don't know what you're talking about," she repeated, her tone too casual for the intensity of the conversation.

Aaron's voice dropped, becoming colder, more clipped. "You can play ignorant. I have all day." His gaze sharpened. "Or you can make this easy for both of us, Rachel Locke." He paused, letting the name linger in the air, a slight emphasis. "You've been arrested in connection with several violent murders, including the deaths of high-ranking members of Novus Ordo. We know you're involved in their operations. Now, you can cooperate, or we can make this harder for you. Who do you report to?"

"No one," Jade said with an easy, dismissive shrug. "Why would I report to anyone?"

Aaron opened the file, pulling out a series of photos—grainy shots of Jade in the act, destroying evidence, smuggling drugs, getting involved in all sorts of criminal activities. As he laid the images out one by one, Jade couldn't help but smile briefly. It wasn't pride—it was something darker. She met his gaze with an air of defiance.

"Here's you," he began, holding up a photo. "Destroying evidence of human trafficking. Smuggling drugs. Conning. Again, you. Interfering with our investigation." He pulled out more pictures, slamming them onto the table. "You were in the same place as the last murder. The list goes on." He flipped through the pages of the file, his eyes narrowing with frustration. "You have a history of anger issues. Violent tendencies."

Jade crossed her arms, her body language completely unfazed by his words. She didn't even blink. "Your team has a couple of issues of their own," she said with a sly smile.

Aaron's eyes flicked to her, surprise flashing across his face. He wasn't used to this kind of response, especially not from someone like her. "Excuse me?" His tone was more cautious now, but his posture remained rigid.

Jade leaned forward slightly, her voice quiet but sharp, "Your youngest profiler is twenty-four. Have you found out if he has Autism yet? Your senior agent? Deranged—Sorry, traumatized. Probably shouldn't even still be working, considering—" She let the sentence hang in the air, letting it sink in.

Her words hit harder than she expected. Aaron was no longer just irritated; he was visibly rattled. He had no idea how she knew any of this. It was as if she'd been watching them all along, picking up on things no one else had noticed. Jade kept her gaze steady, watching his reaction, enjoying the discomfort creeping across his face.

"Didn't two people in one of your most recent cases die?" Jade continued, her voice almost playful, her eyes glinting with an edge of something darker. "I'm just saying," she shrugged, leaning back again, "you've got way bigger problems on your hands than me."

Aaron quickly gathered the scattered photos and files, his face now a mask of controlled irritation. He stuffed them back into the folder with a sharp motion, standing abruptly. "I'll be back," he said, his voice tight. Without another word, he turned and left the room, leaving Jade alone with her thoughts.

She stayed seated, her expression amused, arms still crossed. It didn't matter to her. The game was just beginning.

Jade leaned back in her chair, eyes scanning the interrogation room with a quiet intensity, the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead the only sound besides the rhythmic tap of her fingernails against the edge of the table. The atmosphere was cool, sterile—nothing out of the ordinary for a room like this, though the situation itself was far from ordinary.

She had been left alone for what felt like forever, but it was only minutes. When the door clicked open, she didn't look up immediately. But she could tell someone had entered by the shift in the air. He wasn't like the others. This one moved differently, walked with a kind of youthful energy that screamed 'not quite fitting in with the rest.' She tilted her head just slightly as she heard him approach, his shoes tapping lightly against the floor.

Spencer Reid entered the room, his hair tousled, his button-up shirt a little too loose around the collar. He didn't exactly fit the uniformed sharpness of the FBI. He looked like someone who had slept through a storm, his disheveled appearance adding to his endearing, nerdy charm.

He gave her a quick glance, then sat at the opposite end of the table, his posture careful but curious. She stood, feeling his eyes on her the moment she moved, and slid back into her seat with an almost feline grace. Her gaze didn't waver as she studied him.

"I'm... Dr. Spencer Reid," he said, voice soft and measured, "Nice to meet you, Rachel."

Jade's lips quirked upward slowly. "Nice to meet you," she replied, her tone light, though her eyes remained sharp.

Spencer didn't rush into his questions, instead lingering in the quiet, his eyes never leaving her as if he were piecing together an intricate puzzle. He stood there, his posture straight but relaxed, his gaze calm yet unyielding, the kind of focus that only Spencer Reid could manage. It wasn't an interrogation—it was an observation. And Jade, despite herself, felt the weight of it.

"Ms. Locke," he started, his voice cool but measured, "I've been reviewing your background," he said slowly, adjusting his glasses as if he needed to give his thoughts time to settle into place. "And I have to say, it's fascinating." His tone remained clinical, but there was an undercurrent of something—almost an admiration for her complexity.

"A woman with your skill set doesn't end up on the wrong side of the law without a very complex story behind it." He let the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing, his voice soft but laced with that ever-present analytical tone. "I imagine you didn't just wake up one day and decide to join Novus Ordo."

Jade didn't flinch. She just raised an eyebrow. "I don't know what you mean."

His eyes flickered, not buying her poker face. "You don't?" he asked, his tone a little more probing now.

"I don't have anything to do with that," she said quietly, her voice almost too calm for the weight of the words.

Spencer leaned forward slightly, almost as if trying to read her mind. "Well, assuming you do... how would you end up there?" His voice held that scientific curiosity he was known for. "Hypothetically speaking, of course."

Jade smiled slowly, a teasing glint in her eyes. "It definitely wouldn't be against my own will." She let the words hang in the air, just enough to see the flicker of intrigue in his gaze.

"Wouldn't?" Spencer asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because," she said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms, "I go wherever the fun takes me." Her smile was sly, almost challenging. "What about you?" She tilted her head, keeping her eyes locked on his.

Spencer blinked, momentarily thrown by the question. He straightened up. "Hm?"

Jade didn't move an inch, her gaze intense. "Do you like fun?"

The question seemed to rattle him a bit. He blinked twice, his mouth opening slightly as if trying to formulate an answer but nothing came out. After a pause, he finally spoke, his voice just a little tight. "I... don't know that I understand your definition of 'fun,' Ms. Locke."

Jade chuckled softly, a low, knowing sound. "You don't seem like the type." She eyed him like a puzzle piece that wasn't quite fitting. "You dress like a fifteen-year-old boy who just got shoved into his locker, and you keep fiddling with your hands." Her voice dropped to a near whisper, "Are you scared of me, Doctor?"

Spencer's gaze shifted sharply from the table to her eyes, catching the challenge in her words. He didn't flinch. "No," he answered firmly, his voice calm but steady.

Jade smirked, her gaze softening just a little, like a cat who knew she had cornered her prey. "Good." She shrugged. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I'm not a killer. I don't harm people."

"Then what do you do?" Spencer asked, keeping his voice level, but the curiosity still clear in his eyes.

"Nothing," Jade replied nonchalantly.

"Nothing?" Spencer asked, clearly skeptical.

"Nothing that's any of your business." She flashed a grin, teasing him, trying to get under his skin.

He leaned back a little, crossing his arms, taking in her behavior. "Why do you dress the way you do?" Jade asked, her analytical mind kicking in. "You know, like a fifteen-year-old boy who just... got shoved into his locker?"

Spencer raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Well, actually, I'm wearing a button-up shirt, which is statistically shown to make people appear more authoritative," Spencer explained with an almost absentminded air. "But I guess it's not a great look if you're trying to analyze me based on my wardrobe."

Jade leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table as she locked eyes with him. "Every time you speak, there's like... multiple underlying tones. You talk a lot. Maybe you should carry the conversation," she said with a mischievous smile.

"I'm sure it's better if you do," Spencer countered, his tone just a touch sarcastic. "You've got a lot to say compared to me."

The two were locked in a subtle battle of dominance, testing each other's boundaries, analyzing the other with each word. It was a game to Jade—one she didn't mind playing.

Jade leaned in further, her eyes flickering with a playful yet dangerous glint. "I know I'm a lot, but I seriously didn't think they'd have to bring the mental hospital to me," she said with a wink, her tone almost playful, though there was an edge beneath it.

Spencer's gaze lingered on her for a moment, assessing. "Well, Rachel," he said, his voice cool, "I'm not sure if that's a joke or a confession. But if we're talking about mental health, I'd argue that you're not the one in need of the hospital. You seem to be perfectly aware of your actions and the games you're playing here."

Jade cocked her head to the side, her smile widening. "What game?"

"See?" Spencer pressed, leaning in just a bit. "The mind isn't just about being 'a lot'—it's about control. And people who joke about being 'too much' are usually trying to convince themselves they aren't really in control. But you and I both know you're carefully orchestrating every move you make, trying to get me to react the way you want." He leaned back in his chair, his tone calm but no less sharp. "Let's focus on what's real here—your truth."

She watched him, a flicker of respect in her eyes. Spencer had a way of cutting through the layers, of reading between the lines. But Jade wasn't an open book. Not to anyone.

Spencer leaned back just a fraction, the faintest movement that spoke volumes about his comfort in the situation. His gaze didn't waver as he spoke, his words carefully measured, but his tone carrying that subtle, dry humor that only he could manage—something both distant and oddly personal.

"But, if it makes you feel better," he said, adjusting his posture ever so slightly, as if this were a casual conversation rather than an interrogation, "I'm happy to be your mental hospital." He paused, the flicker of a smile crossing his face, almost imperceptible. "I've certainly dealt with worse."

There was a lightness in his words that contrasted with the intense focus behind them.

He wasn't just making a quip. He was inviting her to let her guard down, to play along with him as if they were both caught in the web of something far bigger than either of them. But whether she took the bait or not didn't matter—he'd already gained his insight. Spencer didn't need people to open up. He already knew how to read them.

Jade smiled, soft and sweet but with an edge. "Thanks. That's so sweet," she said. But then the smile dropped, her voice lowering. "Stop trying to psychoanalyze me."

"I'm not psychoanalyzing you," he said, his voice calm, even. "Does it feel like I'm psychoanalyzing you?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry about that," Spencer replied, almost apologetic.

Suddenly, Jade shifted gears, a playful glint in her eye. "So, do you have a girlfriend?"

"This isn't about me, Rachel," Spencer replied, but there was a flicker of unease in his expression.

"I wish it was." Jade's voice was low, teasing, flirtatious. Spencer blinked, briefly looking away, his breath catching before he cleared his throat.

The two sat, mirroring each other's posture, locked in a quiet standoff. Spencer looked at her directly, eyes sharp. "Well, it's about you."

Jade smiled, leaning back as she crossed her arms, fully aware of the game she was playing. "What else do you want to know about me then? My age? My number? My address? The color of my sheets?" she asked casually, the words laced with flirtation and mockery. "Or maybe you could tell me each and every one of those things about you?"

Spencer didn't answer immediately. He just stared at her, unsure whether to admire her audacity or be afraid of it.

The silence stretched between them. Spencer had expected Jade to break it, but instead, she added to it with a soft, almost playful "Hm?" before letting out a slight sigh.

"No?" she repeated, her gaze still locked on him, almost challenging him to respond.

"No." Spencer spoke quietly, his voice unwavering.

Jade gave a small, feigned disappointed sigh. "That's a shame. Most guys would give that up with ease." Her voice was light, almost teasing, but there was something calculating beneath it.

Spencer's eyes never left her as he sat back in his chair. "Ms. Locke, we've spent over ten minutes talking about me." His tone was patient, though it had a hint of annoyance, like someone who'd been politely waiting for the conversation to pivot.

"Just the way I like it," Jade replied, shrugging nonchalantly as she picked at a loose thread on the edge of her sleeve, her eyes still fixed on him.

"Ms. Locke..." Spencer started, his voice low but firm, a warning edge creeping in.

"Spencer," Jade cut him off, not even looking up at him as she said his name, the word dripping with sarcasm.

Spencer's jaw tightened ever so slightly. She was testing him—something he knew all too well. His patience, though, was something he had in spades.

"You're not going to talk, are you?" Spencer asked, his voice more resigned now. He was leaning forward, but it was clear he was trying to hold onto his composure.

Jade's stare didn't break from his. She didn't speak for a moment. Just watched him, as if studying every twitch of his face, every little shift of his body language.

"If you don't, you'll end up taking full responsibility. Are you aware of that?" Spencer added, his voice softer but no less intense. He was digging now, trying to get something—anything—to click.

Jade simply shrugged, her indifference coming through loud and clear. "I didn't do anything wrong," she said coolly, her gaze flicking briefly to one of the photos on the table.

Before Spencer could react, she suddenly reached for the photo and flicked it off the table with a casual motion. It fluttered to the floor beside her chair. Spencer watched it fall, the sound of paper brushing against the floor almost too quiet for the moment.

He didn't move right away, studying her, assessing. And then, with an air of practiced nonchalance, Jade simply sat back, silent. She wasn't rushing, wasn't pushing. She was in control.

Spencer rose from his seat with a subtle tension in his movements, walking over to retrieve the fallen photo. As he bent down to pick it up, Jade's hand shot out like a snake, grabbing his tie with lightning speed. The smooth silk of his tie twisted around her fingers, pulling him toward her with a surprising force.

Spencer's eyes widened slightly in surprise, though his expression quickly masked it. He didn't flinch—he never did—but there was a brief flash of uncertainty in his eyes.

"Actually," Jade's voice was soft, almost purring, as she tilted her head and smiled up at him, "Now that I think about it... there is something."

Spencer froze, caught in the pull of her hands, his body instinctively stiffening, but he didn't pull away. He couldn't.

"And what is that?" He asked, his voice careful, guarded.

Jade's smile widened, but it wasn't playful anymore. It was sharp, calculating. She leaned forward, just slightly, her breath brushing against his skin. For a moment, everything seemed to slow. Then, in a voice that held nothing but truth, she whispered, "Sono sotto copertura." (I'm undercover.)

Spencer's entire body went rigid. His mind raced to process her words, but for a moment, he didn't react. His confusion only deepened as she let go of his tie, casually releasing him from her grip. She sat back, the smile still on her lips, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

Before Spencer could collect himself, the door to the interrogation room opened abruptly, cutting through the tension like a knife. "Reid." Aaron Hotchner's voice was low and commanding, and within seconds, Spencer turned toward the door.

Hotch stepped inside, giving the two of them a sharp, unreadable look before turning his attention to Spencer. "Come on, Reid," he said, his tone firm, authoritative.

Spencer's eyes flicked back to Jade once more—there was no trace of warmth in his gaze, just the cold professionalism that defined him. He quickly made his way past Hotch and out of the room, never taking his eyes off her.

Hotch gave Jade a brief, lingering look before closing the door behind him, leaving her alone in the room.

Jade turned her gaze to the one-way mirror, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. Her expression was calm, but her eyes glittered with something darker—something that hinted at her true nature, the one they hadn't yet uncovered. She let out a slow, satisfied breath, watching the glass with an almost predatory gleam in her gaze.

⭓ WASHINGTON, d.c. ≋ 8:00 PM

Aaron Hotchner stepped into the room, his gaze locking onto Jade with the kind of unwavering authority that made even the hardest suspects squirm. Behind him, Derek Morgan followed, arms crossed, his expression one of quiet intensity.

"Why didn't you just say that from the beginning?" Aaron asked, his voice as calm as always but laced with frustration.

Jade looked up from where she was seated, the exhaustion from hours of interrogation barely hidden behind a veil of indifference. "Say what?" she asked, her tone light, almost bored.

"What you said. In Italian," Aaron responded, his brow furrowing slightly. "You know, for someone who claims they aren't a criminal, you sure act like one."

Derek, leaning against the doorframe with his usual casual confidence, smirked. "Job's gettin' to you, Beckett." He glanced at Jade, noting the way she was trying to keep her cool. "But that's the thing with you. Always one step ahead. Playing games while we're just trying to connect the dots."

Jade scoffed quietly, shifting in her chair. "Agent Beckett. Part of the Violent Crimes Unit," Derek continued, his voice dripping with the kind of dry sarcasm that only he could pull off. "Been there for years. Undercover for two. You've been working with the Novus Ordo for two years. You're.. what? Twenty-five? Twenty-four? You've been in close proximity to these people, which means you know more than you've been letting on."

She didn't flinch. Instead, she shrugged, her movements slow and deliberate. "You wanna know what I know?" she drawled. "I know I don't owe you a damn thing. You've got me locked up, all for your own agendas. And for the record? As of today, I'm off duty."

Aaron's gaze sharpened. "We're not asking for the man behind the syndicate. We're asking about the murderers, Agent Beckett," he said, his voice taking on that no-nonsense tone that made it clear he wasn't backing down.

Jade met his eyes, unflinching. "I couldn't tell you," she replied with eerie calmness.

"Why not?" Aaron pressed, his patience thinning.

Jade leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. "Because I don't know." The words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, the room felt like it had frozen. "They just started dying, alright? I've been trying to find out. And I can't. It's gotta be some enemy. No one else would go out of their way to murder them, one by one, like that."

She stood abruptly, her voice growing more intense. "And while I'm off duty, let's not forget—you guys pulled me straight from the club. He's lookin' for me as we speak. So, don't think for a second I owe you anything. Especially now that my life's on the line."

Her words hit the air like a brick, and Derek straightened up, his posture shifting from casual to alert. He could feel the tension rise. This wasn't a typical criminal—she was far too strategic, far too cool under pressure.

Jade's voice dropped to a near whisper as she spoke again. "This syndicate, they're high-profile money launderers, murderers, drug dealers, pimps, and sex traffickers. They've got everything locked down, and you're not getting anything from me. This case... it's a waste of time. It won't be solved."

Aaron leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering. "Not without you," he replied quietly, but firmly.

Jade blinked slowly, her expression unreadable. "What?"

"I said," Aaron repeated, his tone firm but calm, "not without you. You know more than we do, Agent Beckett. You're the key here."

Jade's eyes flickered with something—was it disbelief? Something almost like a smirk played at the corners of her mouth, but it was gone as quickly as it came. "I want my chief now," she said, her voice low and demanding as she returned to her seat, folding her arms once more.

The room felt still, the tension almost tangible. Derek looked at Aaron, a silent communication passing between them. There was no doubt in his mind that Jade Beckett was not someone to take lightly, and her games were far from over.

Aaron, never one to show emotion outwardly, stood straighter, his jaw tightening. He knew that getting her to cooperate would be a slow, delicate process. But there was no denying it—Jade Beckett was key to cracking this case, whether she liked it or not.

"We'll get your chief," Aaron said, turning toward the door, his voice measured and calm. "But don't think for a second that you're off the hook, Agent Beckett."

As the door clicked shut behind him, Jade smiled faintly, her eyes narrowing slightly as she stared at the one-way mirror. There was something more to this—something bigger—and she was determined to see it through, no matter the cost.

⭓ WASHINGTON, d.c. ≋ 9:15 PM

   Before Jade even realized it, she was standing with the BAU team, sifting through evidence files and crime scene photos under the sterile glow of the conference room lights. She hadn't agreed to assist initially, but her chief had overridden her objections. His reasoning echoed in her head: "You were being childish."

   So, here she was, staring at the gruesome realities of her undercover world laid bare.

   "This is the most recent death—" JJ began, sliding a photo across the table.

   "Lucian," Jade interrupted, her voice steady but cold. "Lucian Moretti. We called him 'The Broker.'" She paused, her eyes scanning the image of the man she had once known. "He was a former Wall Street executive, forced out after a fraud investigation. Elias De Luca—the boss—recruited him. Lucian handled all major syndicate financial operations."

   "The boss, the broker..." Spencer Reid repeated softly, committing it to memory with that characteristic distant stare. "It fits the hierarchical structure of Novus Ordo," he added, his voice precise.

   Derek Morgan flipped through another photo. "Moretti was found in his penthouse suite," he said. "Impaled through the chest with a metal rod from a collapsed scaffolding."

   Jade's gaze dropped to the image, lips pressing into a thin line. "He was alive just days ago," she murmured, the confusion creeping into her voice.

   "His body was staged," Derek continued. "Sitting upright at his desk, financial records spread out in front of him."

   "Brutal irony," Spencer interjected, the cadence of his voice quickening as he explained. "He was killed by the very tools of his trade. It's a calculated message—a warning to anyone controlling syndicate finances."

   Jade clenched her fists at her sides. Who's sending these messages? she wondered silently. She didn't have the answers, and that frustrated her more than she let on.

   JJ slid another photo forward. "Viktor Ivanov," she said, her tone clipped.

   Jade stiffened. "The enforcer," she confirmed. "Responsible for hits, intimidation, torture—anything violent. I watched him closely during my time undercover." Her voice dropped, and there was a hint of something darker beneath her words. "He was... brutal. I have my own proof of his physical abuse."

   Derek, ever attuned to shifts in emotion, moved behind Jade and draped a blanket over her shoulders. "You're freezing," he muttered, his voice low but gentle. She glanced at him briefly, offering a small nod of thanks before turning back to the table.

   "He's ex-Spetsnaz," Jade continued, her voice regaining its edge. "Former Russian special forces. Efficient. Feared. Even within the syndicate."

   Spencer, ever the profiler, picked up where she left off. "His body was discovered hanging from a meat hook in an abandoned warehouse," he said with a clinical precision. "Hands bound with barbed wire. His face... mutilated beyond recognition." He paused, letting the weight of the image settle before continuing. "His signature weapon—a sledgehammer—was left bloodied next to him."

   "A symbol," Hotch added from the corner of the room, his tone as sharp as ever. "A loss of control. Power stripped away."

   "No one's untouchable," Spencer finished, "not even the syndicate's strongest asset."

   The team fell silent for a moment, the air thick with unspoken tension.

   Then JJ reached for another photograph. "Carlos 'El Gato' Mendoza."

   Jade's eyes narrowed as she recognized the face. "El Gato," she said. "The syndicate's drug trafficker. He managed narcotics distribution across the southern U.S."

   "Former cartel," Jade elaborated. "Connections in Mexico and South America. Cunning. Ruthless. He played the long game and always came out on top."

   Spencer leaned in slightly, his hands clasped in front of him as he described the scene. "Mendoza was found buried alive in the desert," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Suffocated in a shallow grave. His face was covered with a cat mask, referencing his nickname—El Gato (The Cat)."

   Jade inhaled sharply but didn't interrupt.

   "His hands were tied behind his back," Spencer continued, his words flowing seamlessly. "Traces of sand in his lungs suggest he was alive during burial."

   "Another message," Hotch observed, his eyes scanning the crime scene photos. "This one aimed at the syndicate's narcotics operations."

   "Brutal," Derek muttered, shaking his head. "Whoever's behind this isn't just picking them off—they're dismantling the syndicate piece by piece."

   Jade pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, her mind racing. "It's systematic," she said quietly. "Whoever this is... they're organized. Precise. They know exactly who to target."

   "And they're sending a message," Hotch added. His eyes met Jade's. "Do you have any idea who it could be?"

   Jade shook her head slowly. "If I knew, I wouldn't be standing here."

   "Fair enough," Derek said, stepping back. "But if we're gonna stop this, we need everything you've got, Beckett. No more holding back."

   Jade's jaw tightened, and for a moment, her usual bravado slipped. "I don't have all the answers," she admitted, her voice softer now. "But I'll give you what I can."

   Spencer nodded, his mind already piecing together the puzzle. "Then we start with the connections," he said. "The broker, the enforcer, the trafficker... Who benefits from their deaths?"

   Jade's eyes darkened. "Someone who wants revenge." She glanced around the room, her gaze settling on each member of the team.

   "Who's next?" Jade asked, her voice steady but laced with exhaustion as she leaned against the table, arms crossed.

b"Anton Novak," Derek replied, his tone grim.

"I hated him," Jade said immediately, her eyes narrowing. "Specialist in organ trafficking and human smuggling. A disgraced surgeon who found a lucrative second career in the black-market organ trade. Cold, clinical, and highly intelligent." Her voice was tinged with disdain, the memory of him clearly lingering.

"Found strapped to an operating table in an underground clinic," Spencer explained, his words precise and measured as he glanced at the photo in his hand. "His chest cavity was surgically opened, and his heart was removed. It was later found in a jar, labeled with his name and the words 'Your turn.'"

A tense silence filled the room for a moment before Spencer continued, flipping to the next file. "Then there's Marcus DuPoint."

"Corrupt legal advisor," Jade supplied quickly, her brow furrowing. "Handled bribes, blackmail, and made sure syndicate members never saw the inside of a prison cell." She paused, tilting her head. "Didn't know he was dead. Rumor on the street was that he left the country."

"Turns out," Spencer said, "he didn't." He laid another photo on the table. "DuPoint was found in a courtroom, seated in the judge's chair. His throat was slit, and his hands were bound with legal documents. A gavel was forced into his mouth, symbolizing the silencing of justice."

"They just keep getting worse," Hotch remarked, his voice low and steady, the weariness starting to show. "Then there's Leon Perron, aka 'The Ghost'—their hacker—and Dario Alvarez, arms dealer. At least we can start crossing names off the list."

"The kills..." Spencer began, his mind already connecting the threads. "Each one is brutal, symbolic, and meticulously designed to dismantle Novus Ordo's infrastructure." His eyes flicked between the photos. "The syndicate members are being eliminated in ways that reflect their roles within the organization. It's not just murder—it's a message."

"A rivalry?" Jade suggested, her brows furrowing as she considered it. "Some kind of turf war?"

Spencer shook his head slightly. "No. It's more personal than that. Malignant narcissism with sadistic traits," he explained, his words quickening. "Possibly obsessive. They're not just targeting the syndicate's power—they're enjoying it."

"So," Emily interjected, leaning forward. "Who are we looking for? Male? Female?"

"Female," Jade and Spencer said in unison, their voices overlapping as their eyes met briefly.

Derek raised an eyebrow, folding his arms. "Wait—y'all think it's a woman pulling this off?" His voice held a hint of skepticism.

"In fact, I do," Jade said confidently, meeting his gaze head-on. "Men underestimate women too often, Morgan."

"She's right," Spencer said, his voice quiet but deliberate, as if he were unraveling the answer in real time. His brow furrowed in thought, and he adjusted his tie—a nervous, unconscious gesture. "The unsub isn't part of a rival syndicate," he continued, the cadence of his speech quickening slightly as he got lost in the analysis. "This isn't about power or territory. It's personal. Deeply personal." He glanced down at the crime scene photos, his fingers trailing along the edges as if touching them might offer more clarity.

"They weren't just killed," he went on, eyes flicking up to meet the team's. "They were punished. Methodically. Deliberately." His voice softened, as though he was letting them into his mind. "Who would orchestrate that kind of pain? Not a competitor, not an outsider... but someone who knows the syndicate intimately. Someone who suffered at their hands."

Spencer paused, his gaze distant for a second, as if sifting through every psychological profile he'd ever studied. Then, with a sudden focus, he leaned forward, resting his palms on the table. "It's a woman," he said with quiet certainty, as though the words had crystallized from a thousand data points. "A woman they trafficked. Abused. Exploited. She's not just seeking revenge—she's recreating the very hell they put her through. It's systematic." He straightened slightly, adjusting his tie again. "She's making them feel the same pain she did... and ensuring they know why."

There was a pause, the room thick with his words, before Spencer added, almost as an afterthought, "It's not just justice she's after. It's control. Control she was denied... until now."

"And she's not gonna stop," Jade added, her voice calm but certain. "Not until she takes down every last one of them."

Emily frowned. "Why not start with the boss?"

Jade looked up. "For fun."

Derek turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow. He recognized that look—the same one Spencer got when he was lost in thought, piecing together the final puzzle.

"You're thinking about something," Derek said, a hint of curiosity in his tone. "What is it?"

Jade sat back in her chair, her fingers absently tapping the surface of the table as her gaze lingered over the crime scene photos. The weight of the cases, of the deaths, pressed down on her like a vise. The silence in the room stretched on until it was broken by her low, almost detached voice.

"There's been multiple girls done wrong because of these people..." Her words were slow, deliberate, her thoughts weaving through the pain that lingered just beneath the surface. "Multiple girls..." She repeated, as if the realization itself was a painful affirmation.

She shifted her gaze up, her eyes piercing the group. "Anything found at the scene of the crime?" She asked, her tone a little more controlled, though the tension in her voice was unmistakable.

"A crimson lipstick tube," JJ answered, showing a photo.

Jade's eyes flicked to the image. "Crimson?" She repeated, her mind racing, processing the color like it was a clue she had been subconsciously waiting for. She paused, thinking harder now. Her fingers tapped rhythmically on the table, her mind a blur of connections.

She looked at the pictures of the crime scenes, her mind narrowing in on one face in particular. The pieces began to come together. "I've seen a girl..." Jade's voice was quiet, almost lost in thought. "I've seen a girl who wears that exact color." She spoke more to herself than anyone else, her gaze distant, as though the memory was right there on the edge of her mind. She blinked, her eyes refocusing. "The person who's killing all of these people... they're part of Novus Ordo."

The room went still. Even Spencer stopped scribbling notes, his attention fully on her. "I keep seeing her everywhere," Jade continued, her mind now fully consumed by the thought.

"Would you be able to ID her?" Aaron asked, his voice calm but with a sense of urgency lurking beneath it.

Jade's brow furrowed as she struggled to recall the details. She felt her mind flinch, a mental fog clouding the image she was trying to bring forward. "I can't..." She shook her head slowly. "I can't remember her face, but she was blonde. Always blonde..." Her voice trailed off for a moment. "She was always wearing short dresses. Uhm..." Jade paused, looking up from the table to meet Aaron's gaze. "She always smiled at me when I entered an area..."

Derek's eyes narrowed, studying her, but he didn't say anything. His concern was evident, even if he didn't voice it.

"I've seen her about two or three days in a row now. She was at the bar I went to—"

"So, she's following you," Emily interrupted, folding her arms across her chest. Her voice was sharp, like a blade cutting through the haze. "If she's following you, that just means..."

"I'm next." Jade finished for her, her voice quieter now, the weight of the reality settling in. She sighed, the breath heavy with the inevitability of it all. "Or maybe she caught on, but either way... I'm next."

"You won't be," Aaron said firmly, his eyes locked on hers. His voice was unwavering, an edge of authority cutting through the air. "It's getting late, but we'll gather everything we need tonight and we'll find out who this woman is tomorrow. That'll be the end of her streak."

Jade glanced at him, her expression a mixture of exhaustion and resolve. "You could take down the entire syndicate. If she's really connected to them, you can get the whole thing taken down. I could easily help, tell you all their locations..."

Aaron paused, considering her words. "Good." His gaze never wavered. "And tonight, you'll help from a safe house."

"What?" Jade's head snapped up in disbelief. She leaned forward, her hands pressing flat against the table. "You asked me to help. I'm helping. You don't get to send me away like I'm some victim to hide away."

"But you are," Aaron said, his tone unwavering. "As of now, you're a target. She wants you dead."

Jade stared at him, her eyes hardening. "Fine." Her voice was low, but it carried a weight of frustration.

"Good," Aaron said before turning to leave the room. "Reid."

The rest of the team filed out after him, leaving Jade alone in the room for a brief moment. She sat there, staring down at the table, feeling the weight of it all. The odd thing, though, was how strange it felt—him being the one to protect her. Spencer Reid—the same guy she'd taunted, teased, and flirted with. The thought made her chuckle quietly to herself, but there was no humor in it.

Jade turned slowly, her gaze finding Spencer, who had just picked up her phone. She tensed, her hand darting up instinctively, but Spencer was faster—his long fingers already gripping it.

"Woah," she muttered, voice rising with frustration. "Hey, give that back."

"Yeah, you can't have this," Spencer said, his voice measured, precise—almost too calm. He held her phone in his hand like it was a delicate piece of evidence, scanning it briefly before meeting her eyes. His expression was cool, impersonal. "The likelihood of them tracking your phone is minimal, but as we both know, nothing's ever really zero in this line of work." He tucked the phone into his jacket pocket, his fingers moving with a practiced, almost mechanical precision. "Plus, there's the issue of limiting your communication outside the safe house. You'll be safer there, Jade."

He didn't look up as he spoke, his attention focused on the task—securing her phone, ensuring she stayed safe. But his words were deliberate, weighted with the kind of quiet authority he didn't often show outside the confines of his work. "You'll stay in the safe house, and I'll monitor you. If you need to leave, it won't be without me. Regular check-ins, full transparency—that's the deal, until we catch her."

He paused for a fraction of a second, his gaze flicking back to her with that unmistakable glint of his hyper-alert mind at work. "And no, Jade, you're not getting your phone back. Not until we've got a solid lead on her."

His words were cool, almost cold—his tone the one he used when he wasn't just solving cases, but ensuring every calculated risk was accounted for. Spencer Reid wasn't just brilliant. He was obsessive, methodical. And in this moment, it was clear: he had every intention of keeping her safe, no matter how many rules he had to enforce to do so.

Jade let out a long, exasperated sigh, folding her arms across her chest. "So, he gets all my info and not me. Great," she muttered, rolling her eyes as she straightened. "Whatever. Let's just go, I'm exhausted."

Without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel, heading for the door. Spencer didn't miss a beat. He was right behind her, his footsteps soft but purposeful, his face unreadable as he followed her out of the room.

Jade could hear his quick, calculating thoughts in the silence between them. Spencer Reid, she mused. He was always in control, always ten steps ahead—especially when it came to her. It wasn't the first time she'd seen that calculating look, but now, it carried a weight she hadn't anticipated. Spencer wasn't just a brilliant mind anymore. He was her babysitter. And, despite herself, Jade found she wasn't entirely sure how to feel about that.

   "Hey, Reid," she called out over her shoulder, voice teasing but underlined with a touch of something else. "You know, you're kinda like a glorified bodyguard. Just a thought."

   Spencer didn't respond immediately. Instead, he adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder, his usual habit when he was trying to maintain his composure in an awkward situation. "If by 'glorified' you mean trained professional who's doing his job, then sure," he said, the slightest edge of sarcasm slipping into his voice. "But, I'm afraid bodyguard is a little beneath me."

   Jade grinned. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

   She didn't look back this time, but the faintest shift in Spencer's expression told her he was holding back a smile. They walked on, the tension between them thick but somehow manageable, each step in sync with the gravity of the situation ahead.