━━━━━━━━┛ ♱ ┗━━━━━━━━

𝙑𝙊𝙇𝙐𝙈𝙀 𝑰𝑽.  ──────────  RUIN!

❛ in that moment, he saw      eternity and ruin. . . ❜
─── chapter eighteen! ❫

018.  ╱    ❝ you 𝖉𝖎𝖉𝖓'𝖙 𝖆𝖘𝖐 for 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖕. . . ❞
❝ how could i? how could i? 𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖎? ❞

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

﹙ 𝕿UESDAY ━ 𝕯ECEMBER 6TH, 2016 ﹚

     THE MANHATTAN SKYLINE LOOMED LARGE IN THE REARVIEW MIRROR, A JAGGED SILHOUETTE OF AMBITION AND PROGRESS AGAINST THE PALE DECEMBER SKY. Inside the sleek black Lincoln town car, two worlds collided in a uniquely New York tableau. In the back seat, Carson Crest, exquisitely dressed in a tailored navy suit with her chestnut brown hair perfectly curled, pored over legal briefs. Beside her, Parker, a whirlwind of teenage energy barely contained in her school uniform, flipped through her physics flashcards with an intensity that resembled her mom's.

     The car glided through the early morning traffic, a bubble of focused silence amidst the cacophony of the awakening city. Jimmy, their long-time driver, navigated the streets with ease. He knew every pothole and shortcut in the five boroughs. His quiet competence allowed the Crests to immerse themselves in their respective tasks, both lost in a world of varying intellectual challenges.

     Carson's manicured nails painted a subtle nude shade, tapped a staccato rhythm on her tablet as she reviewed the details of the TechInclusion case. The complexities of trade secret theft and the many merger complications danced around her brain. Her brow furrowed in concentration, the weight of her recent promotion to senior partner adding an extra layer of pressure to her already formidable workload.

     Next to her, Parker's curly hair fell in a curtain around her face as she hunched over her textbook and referred back to her flashcards. Her lips moved silently, reciting formulas and theories. The light from passing streetlamps illuminated her face in fleeting flashes, revealing the determination etched in her young features.

     As the car wound its way toward Washington Heights, the energy inside built up, a noticeable strain of two brilliant minds pushing themselves to their limits. It was just another Tuesday morning for the Crest women, but in the microcosm of their shared commute, it felt like the whole world hung in the balance.

     Randomly glancing up from her tablet for a split second, Carson let out a breath and took a look at her daughter. Immediately, she noticed the tense set of Parker's shoulders and how she was massaging her temples—a telltale sign of stress that Carson knew all too well.

     "Parker?" Carson called, concern edging her tone. "What's wrong, stinker?"

     At the sound of the nickname, Parker looked up, blinking as if coming out of a trance. She sighed after she processed the question, her shoulders slumping slightly. "It's just... there's so much going on, Mom," she groaned, placing her flashcards on top of her textbook. Then, she ran her hands over her face. "The physics final next week, the intramural soccer game on Friday night, and then the regional mathletes competition on Saturday in the Upper East Side.

     "I'm the captain of both the soccer and mathlete teams," Parker went on, her words tumbling out in a rush. "But soccer isn't my strong suit, and I'm worried I'm going to let everyone down. And don't even get me started on the debate club tournament next Saturday against Chelsea Harbor Academy. This will be the first time Zoe and I will be going against her ex-girlfriend's team since they broke up last season.

     "She's anxious about it and since I'm her girlfriend now, I'm anxious about it too, but also kind of mad. I kind of want to hit Zaria because she treated Zoe like utter shit, which I know isn't the point—oh! Also, speaking of my sunshine, she can't make it to the game Friday. She and her parents are taking her brother out for a surprise birthday dinner. I know you'll be at the game, so that's more than enough. I wish she was coming, though."

     Carson set aside her work and gave her full attention to her daughter. She recognized the signs of mounting stress, the weight of expectations that Parker put on herself. It was a trait they shared, for better or worse.

     "Take a deep breath, stinker," she said, her voice soft but firm. "You're putting too much pressure on yourself. Remember what we've talked about—you can't control everything, but you can control your preparation and attitude."

     Doing what her mom said, Parker took a shaky breath. Carson continued, her words filled with pride and encouragement. "You've been working so hard, lovie. Your teammates chose you as captain because they believe in you, not because they expect perfection. And as for the mathletes and debate team? You've got this. Your mind is your superpower, remember? Oh, and Zaria? Fuck her."

     A laugh escaped her and Parker grinned. Some of the tension eased off her posture. "Thank you, Mom," she snorted. "Especially for that last part. Fuck Zaria."

     And right on time, like clockwork, Jimmy eased the town car to a smooth stop in front of Washington Heights Magnet School. The dashboard clock flicked to 7:35 AM as the tires kissed the curb. The school loomed before them, its brick façade a patchwork of history and modernity, teeming with students rushing inside.

     Parker gathered her things with practiced efficiency. Her movements were swift yet deliberate; she tucked her physics textbook and flashcards into her backpack, zipped it closed, and slung it over her shoulder.

     She paused with her hand on the door handle and turned to her mom. Carson was already engrossed in her work again, her focus laser-sharp on the screen in her lap. But as if sensing her daughter's gaze, she looked up and their eyes met.

     Quickly, Parker leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to the top of Carson's head, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo and perfume. It was a scent that spoke of home and safety.

     "I love you, Mom," she sang, popping the car door open. "See you tonight!"

     The words were simple, a daily ritual, but carried the strength of their bond. In those few syllables lay a world of support, encouragement, and unconditional love.

     "I love you, stinker. Knock 'em dead today," Carson replied, watching Parker bounce out of the car. In the near distance by the front doors, she could see Zoe standing there with a giant grin and a bouquet for Parker. Whenever Parker got incredibly stressed, three things always made her feel better: sushi, flowers, and time with loved ones.

     Once she was on the sidewalk and closed the door, Parker squared back her shoulders and lifted her chin with a determined gleam in her eyes. However, her collected and poised composure faltered when she spotted Zoe.

     Carson watched from the window as Parker broke into a sprint toward Zoe. An innate smile pulled at the corners of her mouth and she gave Jimmy a nod, signaling that it was all right to go.

     As the Lincoln pulled away from the curb, merging back into the flow of morning traffic, Carson allowed herself a minute of maternal pride before turning her attention to the cases awaiting her. The day was young, and there were legal battles to be fought in the heart of New York City.

── 𐀔 ──

     THE NEW YORK SKYLINE STRETCHED OUT BEHIND CARSON, A BREATHTAKING PANORAMA OF STEEL AND GLASS THAT NEVER FAILED TO CAPTIVATE HER. From her new office on the 57th floor, she could still see the entire city laid out. The mid-morning sun cast glittering shadows across the urban landscape, painting the city in hues of gold and honey yellow.

     Gone was the triangular space of Carson's junior partner days; in its place stood a sprawling new corner office that commanded attention, a domain befitting her new status as senior partner.

     The office retained the breathtaking views of Manhattan but on a grander scale. Two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows now stretched from gleaming hardwood floors to the lofty ceiling, offering a panoramic vista of the city Carson loved and conquered.

     The third wall, once a modest slate gray backdrop for her achievements, had transformed into a white statement of power with silver accents. Dark wood paneling exuded gravitas, while built-in shelves showcased an expanded collection of legal texts, industry awards, and carefully chosen art pieces. Her previous awards were there, but now they were joined by newer, more prestigious honors—proof of her continued hard work.

     At the heart of her legal sanctum stood Carson's new desk—a massive slab of glass supported by polished chrome legs, dwarfing her old workspace. Its expansive surface was organized save for a state-of-the-art laptop and a few precisely arranged files. The transparent glass symbolized the clarity of thought she brought to even the most complex cases.

     Behind the desk, a high-backed white memory foam chair replaced the more modest black leather seat of her previous office. Similarly, it faced the door. Then behind the chair was a long credenza that ran along only one of the two floor-to-ceiling windows. A few photos of Carson and Parker, along with pictures of colleagues and friends, were displayed in elegant silver frames.

     A new addition to the space was a seating area nestled in the left corner. Two white sofas sat opposite one another with a glass coffee table in the middle. The arrangement created a more informal meeting space, allowing Carson to shift from an intimidating lawyer to a persuasive negotiator when the situation demanded it. Near the glass doors, a discreet bar cart stood ready, its crystal decanters catching the light.

     The lighting, too, had evolved. The utilitarian fixtures from her old office were gone. Now, a combination of recessed ceiling lights and strategically placed lamps created an atmosphere that could shift from warm and inviting to coolly professional at Carson's whim.

     As in her old office, every element of the new space spoke to her meticulous nature and uncompromising standards. But now, there was an added layer of sophistication, a clear declaration of her rise to the upper echelons of New York's legal world.

     At Gallagher & Lang, Carson Crest hadn't just maintained her reputation in the last twenty months for elegance and efficiency—she had amplified it and come back stronger than ever. The office, much like the woman herself, had evolved from a scarred child to promising talent and to an undisputed leader.

     Currently, she sat at her desk, surrounded by unusually high stacks of legal briefs and case files. Fifteen separate, active cases lay before her, each a labyrinth of corporate intrigue and legal complexities. Her fingers flew across her keyboard with machine-gun rapidity, the soft clatter of keys a counterpoint to the low hum of her computer.

     Under her breath, almost unconsciously, Carson hummed the latest K-pop hit that had been dominating Parker's playlist. The catchy melody was a stark contrast to the weighty legal matters at hand, a small tendril of her personal life sneaking into the professional sphere.

     Under her breath, almost unconsciously, Carson hummed the catchy chorus of "Cheer Up" by TWICE, a K-pop song that'd been dominating Parker's playlist for weeks. The upbeat melody with its repetitive "Cheer up baby" had been stuck in Carson's head for days. The irony of the song's encouraging lyrics juxtaposed against the case of Gourmet Grocers, Inc. v. Flavor Fusion Foods and Former Executive Chef that sat in front of her. A slight smirk pulled at her lips.

     The sudden, sharp trill of her work phone shattered the concentrated silence. Carson's head snapped up, and her train of thought was momentarily derailed. She glanced at the sleek digital clock on her desk—10:30 AM. With a small sigh, she rose from her desk and her Louboutin stilettos clicked on the hardwood as she crossed to the phone.

     The caller ID flashed on the sleek display: Declan Montgomery, Caldwell Prescott Burke. Carson's brow furrowed slightly and her earth-brown eyes narrowed. She knew Declan primarily by reputation—a shark in the sphere of corporate law, known for his aggressive tactics and silver tongue. This was their first case together, and she steeled herself for the verbal sparring match to come. According to her colleagues, it was inevitable.

     Taking a deep breath, she picked up her phone from the coffee table. "This is Crest," she answered, cool and professional.

     "Carson, it's Declan. Got a minute to discuss the TechInclusion case?" His voice crackled through the line, smooth yet edged with a challenge.

     Carson's free hand unconsciously smoothed down her suit. "Of course, Declan," she replied, her tone measured. "What's on your mind?"

     "I wanted to touch base about your client's allegations. We believe this whole situation is a misunderstanding."

     Unable to help herself, she rolled her eyes into the back of her head and spun around. "A misunderstanding? Declan..." she wandered back to her desk and placed a hand on the top of her chair, "your clients walked out of SmartAlgo with proprietary algorithms and started a competing company within months. That's not a misunderstanding, that's corporate espionage."

     She could almost hear Declan's smirk through the phone. "Now, now, that's not quite accurate," he countered. "My clients used their general knowledge and skills—"

     "General knowledge?" Carson interrupted sharply. The Manhattan skyline was a dramatic backdrop to the unfolding legal talk. "The code is nearly identical. Our experts have confirmed it. This isn't general knowledge, it's theft of intellectual property."

     "Similar doesn't mean identical, Carson. You know as well as I do that in AI, parallel development happens all the time."

     Exhaling slowly, Carson pinched the bridge of her nose. "This isn't parallel development. These were high-level employees with direct access to trade secrets. They signed NDAs and non-competes for this exact reason."

     "Those agreements are overly broad and likely unenforceable," Declan retorted with a scoff. "My clients have the right to work in their field."

     Carson's voice rose slightly before she caught herself. "They have the right to work, not to steal. This has put a multi-million dollar merger at risk."

     "That's not my clients' responsibility," he said dismissively. "If the merger's in trouble, maybe TechInclusion should reconsider SmartAlgo's value."

     Carson's grip on the phone tightened, her knuckles whitening. She took a moment to re-center, her gaze drifting to the buildings outside her window. When she spoke again, she was calm yet steely.

     "Declan, let me be clear. We're not just protecting SmartAlgo's assets. We're preventing your clients from profiting off stolen intellectual property. We'll be seeking an immediate injunction."

     "An injunction would be premature and damaging. We're prepared to fight this, Carson."

     The tension was evident when she replied, "And we're prepared to prove every bit of our claim. Your clients crossed a line, and we intend to hold them accountable."

     "We'll see about that. I'll be in touch."

     "Looking forward to it."

     Carson placed her phone down with perhaps more force than necessary, a soft bang echoing in the quiet office. For a moment, she stood motionless, gathering her thoughts. Then, she squared back her shoulders and returned to her chair. She made a mental note to contact her client at SmartAlgo in half an hour, but for now, she needed to refocus on the case at hand.

     There was still a lot to do.

── 𐀔 ──

     THE GLEAMING GLASS DOORS OF ONE OF GALLAGHER & LANGS' MANY CONFERENCE ROOMS SWUNG OPEN, ADMITTING CARSON AND HER TEAM. The rectangular space was a testament to modern corporate elegance—sleek and imposing. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city, the afternoon sun glinting off distant skyscrapers. The polished mahogany table, large enough to seat twenty, dominated the area, its surface reflecting the recessed lighting.

     Carson strode to the head of the table, her presence commanding immediate attention. She placed her tablet and a stack of legal briefs on the table, her movements precise and purposeful. The two associates she handpicked last fall—Bailey Ali and Marcus Chen—took their seats, tablets and case files at the ready.

     There were a handful of cases they were working together, but this meeting's focus was on the TechInclusion, Inc. v. NexTab Solutions and Former Employees case. It was a complicated legal battle that'd sent shockwaves through the AI industry. At its core, the dispute centered around allegations of trade secret theft and violation of non-compete agreements.

     TechInclusion, a leading AI software company, had been in the process of acquiring SmartAlgo, a smaller competitor renowned for its innovative machine-learning algorithms. However, during due diligence, TechInclusion discovered three former high-level employees of SmartAlgo recently joined NexTab Solutions, a new startup. And that's when Carson was brought in.

     The case raised several critical legal issues. First and foremost was the allegation of trade secret theft, with TechInclusion suspecting that the former employees had taken proprietary algorithms and client lists to NexTab. Secondly, these employees were accused of violating their non-compete and non-disclosure agreements with SmartAlgo. The situation had thrown a wrench into the merger process, jeopardizing TechInclusion's acquisition of SmartAlgo, as much of the company's value was tied to its proprietary technology. Lastly, questions had arisen about the ownership of certain patents and trade secrets developed by the former employees during their tenure at SmartAlgo.

     So now, this merger not only threatened to reshape the competitive landscape of the AI industry but also promised to set important precedents in intellectual property law and employee mobility in the tech sector. It was Carson's job to represent SmartAlgo and win the case, and she was going to do exactly that.

     "All right," Carson began, straightening her posture until it was perfect. "Let's dive into our strategy for the TechInflusion, SmartAlgo, and NexTab case. As you know, we've just filed for an injunction, but we need to be prepared for every possible counter-move."

     She tapped her tablet, and a display sprang to life on the TV monitor behind her, showing a complex web of legal documents and patent filings. "Our primary focus needs to be on the non-compete clauses. SmartAlgo's innovation in AI algorithms gives us a strong position, but we need to ensure it doesn't infringe on TechInclusion's existing patents."

     Bailey leaned forward in her seat, fiddling with a pen. "I was thinking earlier and... what about the issue of inevitable disclosure? Given the specialized nature of the AI work, couldn't we argue that it's impossible for the former employees to work for NexTab without using SmartAlgo's trade secrets?"

     "Good point, Bailey," Carson nodded approvingly. "The doctrine of inevitable disclosure could be a powerful tool. However, we need to be prepared for pushback on this front. Some courts have been hesitant to apply this doctrine too broadly. Marcus, I want you to deep dive into recent cases where it's been successfully applied in tech industry disputes. We'll use those to strengthen our position."

     Marcus made a note in his notebook. "On it. Should we look into the possibility of a TRO in addition to the preliminary injunction?"

     Pursing her lips out to the side, Bailey tilted her head in consideration. "I mean, yeah. That could work."

     "Yes. A TRO could give us immediate relief while we wait for the hearing on the injunction," Carson added, making eye contact with both of them. "Let's prepare the necessary affidavits and evidence of immediate, irreparable harm."

     There was a brief pause while Bailey and Marcus wrote down similar notes.

     "Also, we're going to need to establish a clear timeline of SmartAlgo's development process in the event NexTab argues that the algorithms in question were developed independently. I worked with our technical experts to create a detailed chronology of the algorithm's evolution. It's being reviewed for accuracy right now. We'll juxtapose that against NexTab's sudden 'breakthrough' to demonstrate the improbability of independent development."

     Carson turned to the television, changing the slide with practiced ease to bring up a series of patent filings. "Now, look here. SmartAlgo filed these provisional patents just weeks before the employees left. We can use this to bolster our argument of trade secret misappropriation."

     Brows forming a jagged line, Marcus took in the information. None of this had been mentioned yesterday, which meant all of this had to have been done last night or earlier today. And that was practically impossible. Carson was already working on over a dozen different cases this week alone.

     "Do you ever sleep?" Marcus suddenly retorted, staring at his mentor in bewilderment.

    Taking his question into consideration, Carson hummed. "Mmm. Roughly 6-8 hours a night, if I'm lucky." Appearing to snap back to life, she resumed. "We also need to consider the possibility that NexTab might try to invalidate SmartAlgo's patents. So, Bailey, I want you to conduct a thorough prior art search. Leave no stone unturned."

     Bailey sent her a thumbs up.

     Eventually, the meeting drew to a close and Carson felt a surge of satisfaction and pride. Her team was sharp, prepared, and as committed to the job as she was. She made the right choice picking Bailey and Marcus, and she was reminded of that every day.

     "Excellent work, everyone. Bailey, I need a draft of our arguments for the inevitable disclosure doctrine by tomorrow morning. Marcus, compile a list of relevant precedents for the TRO. I'll review them both before our next strategy session.

     "And remember," she emphasized, "our goal isn't just to win this case. We need to set a precedent that protects our client's intellectual property rights in the long term. The AI industry is evolving rapidly, and this case could shape how trade secrets are protected in the field for years to come."

      With nods of understanding, Bailey and Marcus gathered their materials and headed out, their minds already racing with their assigned tasks. Carson turned off the TV and began to collect her documents, her thoughts already shifting to preparation mode before her next meeting at 4 PM.

     Once she had everything stacked in her arms all the way up to her chin, she stepped out of the conference room and went to the left. The buzz of the bullpen enveloped her. The main area of Gallagher & Lang was a hive of activity, with associates hurrying between desks, the soft murmur of phone conversations, and the rhythmic tapping of keyboards creating an uneven symphony.

     Carson walked down the long hallway, her stilettos clicking on the polished floor. Junior associates and other firm partners nodded respectfully as she passed. Carson was in her element here, the very air around her crackling with intellectual energy and purpose.

     As she approached her office, her mind still racing with a million thoughts and legal strategies, a figure standing at Kylie's desk caught her attention. Unconsciously, Carson slowed her pace, her keen eyes taking in the man's silhouette. Something about his posture, the set of his broad shoulders, and the way he held his head triggered a sense of familiarity that made her heart skip a beat.

     Time seemed to slow as recognition dawned. The stack of files in her arms unexpectedly felt heavier, her breath catching in her throat. A cocktail of emotions—surprise, pleasure, and a flutter of nervousness—washed over her.

     "Aaron?" His name involuntarily escaped her lips, half question, half recognition.

     Hotch turned at the sound of her voice, breaking into a smile that reached his eyes when he saw her. Those dark, intense eyes had plagued her thoughts and dreams more often than she cared to admit over the past year and a half.

     "Carson," he replied, his deep voice sending a shiver down her spine.

     For a moment, they stood there, drinking in the sight of each other. The bustling office around them faded away, leaving just the two of them in a bubble of shared history and unspoken emotions. Neither had seen the other in person since April of last year when the case with Olivia reached a fatal end. Since then, they'd kept in consistent contact via text message and a few phone calls, but predominantly through handwritten letters. Sometimes it was hard to find time to write a letter, but they both made it possible. However, it'd been a few weeks since Carson last heard from him.

     She hadn't been overtly worried. It happened—life and both of their high-demanding jobs. Perhaps he was in the city for a case...

     Then, reality hit her, and Carson was acutely aware of every detail—the way Hotch's jacket stretched across his shoulders, how relaxed and at ease he looked in just jeans, sneakers, and a button-up underneath his jacket, the softening around his eyes, and the hint of silver at his temples that hadn't been as prominent as before. And she was acutely aware of how dumbfounded she must look.

     "This is... unexpected," she managed, a small smile unknowingly playing on her lips. She shifted the files in her arms, feeling slightly off-balance under the weight of his stare. "It's good to see you."

     Hotch's eyes crinkled at the corners and his smile deepened. "It's good to see you too, Carson. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

     For half a second, all thoughts and plans for the rest of her day went soaring out the window. For a half second, she wanted nothing more than to sit down and talk with him until the day was over.

     Numbly shaking her head, her professionalism warred with the personal joy of seeing him. "No. Not at all." In the background, Kylie, her secretary, mouthed "He's cute!", which Carson successfully ignored. "I have some time before my meeting at four. Why don't you follow me to my office? We can talk there."

     Hotch nodded in agreement. He turned to Kylie, who'd been watching their interaction with poorly concealed interest.

     "Thank you for your help, Kylie," Hotch said with genuine appreciation.

     Kylie beamed at him, her eyes sparkling with barely contained excitement. This was the most exciting thing to happen at the office in weeks that had nothing to do with law. "It's no problem at all. Happy to help!"

     As the man turned back to Carson, Kylie caught her boss's eye. The young secretary's expression was a mixture of intrigue and mischief, her eyebrows raised in a look that clearly said, "We are definitely talking about this later." She gave Carson a quick wink, her grin widening.

     Carson felt a rush of warmth to her cheeks but kept her composure. She held back a snort of amusement at Kylie's obvious curiosity, making a mental note to prepare for the inevitable barrage of questions later. Sometimes, having such a perceptive secretary was both a blessing and a curse. In that aspect, she mirrored Melanie quite a bit.

     Hotch, oblivious to the silent exchange between the two women, moved toward Carson's office door. He reached for the handle, his movements smooth and assured. When he pulled the heavy glass door open, his arm extended in a gentlemanly gesture, inviting Carson to enter first.

     "After you," he said lowly.

     Carson felt a flutter in her stomach. It was such a small thing, but it spoke volumes to her. Stepping past him, she was conscious of his presence, the subtle scent of his cologne mingling with the familiar smells of leather and paper that permeated her office.

     "Thank you," she muttered, softer than intended. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Carson felt a jolt of electricity that had nothing to do with static and everything to do with the man holding the door.

     Entering together, the familiar space of her office seemed transformed by Hotch's presence. He surveyed the room, noting the changes in books, art, and pictures since he'd last been there. Carson watched him profile her office. It was an innate habit of his that she recognized. To her, she found it winsome.

     "It's bigger than I imagined from the pictures you sent," he commented, a note of admiration present.

     Carson chuckled, the sound slightly nervous. "Well, senior partner does come with its perks," she replied, setting her files on the coffee table. She took a deep breath, centering herself. "Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?"

     "Water would be great, thank you," Hotch said, still examining the space. He remembered how excited Carson had been over the phone when she told him about the promotion in March.

     Nodding, Carson made her way to the small bar area. Hotch's gaze followed her, his body slowly turning. He couldn't help but notice the little changes in her appearance. This was the first time he'd properly seen her since last year. They hadn't video chatted at all, just texts, phone calls, and letters. Now, however, he was finally seeing her.

     Her hair was shorter and rested at her chest, the golden brown waves framing her face differently. He noticed faint freckles dusting her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, hinting at time spent outdoors. It was likely from the vacation she told him about in October.

     Next, he saw a glint of silver in her ear—a new piercing, small and elegant. It suited her, he thought.

     "You look well, Carson," Hotch complimented as she handed him the water glass, their fingers brushing lightly in the exchange. "I'm guessing the vacation with Parker was a success."

     Carson felt a blush creep up her neck at his observation. She wasn't flustered often, but today was an exception. She hadn't expected to see Hotch whatsoever, and his visit had thrown her for a tiny loop. "Thank you," she responded, resisting the urge to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously. "Yes, it was. It was great. We finally got to go on our Universal trip and enjoyed every second of it. Turns out vitamin D really is good for you."

     Hotch chuckled, glancing at the drink in his hand. "I'm glad to hear that. You deserved a break."

     "Thanks," she said, unable to stop the natural tugging at the corners of her mouth.

     Nodding, Hotch went to the seating area and settled on one of the white sofas. His eyes followed Carson as she walked to her desk, removing her blazer and draping it over the back of her chair. The silk blouse she wore underneath caught the afternoon light, accentuating her silhouette.

     Carson felt Hotch's gaze on her and a warmth spread through her body at his unwavering attention. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and set it on the glass desk.

     Soon joining him on the couch, Carson was conscious of their respectable distance, even as their knees touched lightly. The contact, small as it was, sent a thrill through her. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't developed feelings that ventured beyond platonic for him. It wasn't hard to, especially after everything they went through.

     Over the past year and a half, their relationship had evolved in ways Carson hadn't anticipated. What started as a professional acquaintance had blossomed into a deep friendship, nurtured through countless text messages, sometimes late-night phone calls, and handwritten letters that she reread on quiet evenings.

     There was something about Aaron Hotchner that resonated with her on a profound level. Perhaps it was their shared experiences as single parents, both fiercely protective of their children. Or perhaps it was the shared understanding of loss and grief in the face of darkness or how he understood the demands of a high-pressure career without judgment. Whatever it was, Carson found herself increasingly drawn to him.

     She thought back to the letter she'd received from him just before her promotion to senior partner. His words of encouragement and pride meant more to her than she cared to admit. And when Parker had won her field hockey scholarship to Princeton, Hotch's genuine excitement over the phone had matched her own.

     Now, sitting beside him after so long, Carson noted every detail, clinging onto all of it as if she'd never see him again after today. At 40, Carson was far from a lovestruck teenager, but she wouldn't deny the quickening of her pulse or the flutter in her stomach.

     "So," she began, her voice gentler, more personal, "how have you been, Aaron? It's been a while since we've last talked."

     Hotch leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The familiar intensity in his stare was tempered with a hint of vulnerability Carson recognized.

     "I owe you an explanation for my silence these past few weeks. I'm sorry for not responding to your texts or letters. Things... changed rather abruptly at the BAU."

     Carson nodded, her heart rate picking up at the seriousness in his tone. "It's all right, I gathered as much. What's going on?"

     Taking a deep breath, he glanced at the New York skyline visible through Carson's office windows. The afternoon sun glinted off the glass and steel structures, casting shadows across the city. "Do you remember Peter Lewis?"

     Carson's brow furrowed, her mind sifting through their past conversations. The name struck a chord, and the pieces fell into place. "Yes, I do," she replied hesitantly, concerned for where this was leading. "Mr. Scratch, the serial killer you had the incident with in May last year. The one who escaped custody."

     "That's the one," Hotch confirmed, a shadow passing over his countenance. His jaw tightened, an indicative sign of the emotions he was holding back. "He started stalking Jack. And the threats... they became too real, too immediate to ignore."

     The news hit Carson like a physical blow. Her breath almost caught in her throat, and a chill ran down her spine. If she knew anything about Hotch, it was that he loved his son more than anything or any job. With that in mind, she quickly pieced together what must have happened, her heart aching for the man beside her.

     "Aaron..." Carson breathed, his name barely above a whisper. Her hand moved instinctively toward his on the couch, stopping short of touching. The urge to comfort him warred with her respect for his personal space and not knowing where they stood when it came to physical touch. "I'm so sorry. That must have been terrifying."

     Hotch's eyes met hers, and Carson saw the full weight of what he'd been carrying. The fear for his son, the anguish of leaving behind the career he'd built, the uncertainty of their new life—it was all there in his expression.

     He gave her a small, grateful smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. It was the first one that hadn't. "I had to make a choice. My job or my son's safety. It wasn't really a choice at all."

     "You resigned," Carson concluded, understanding dawning in her stare. She could almost feel the weight of that decision, aware of what she would do if Parker were in danger again.

     Hotch nodded, shoulders slumping slightly as if relieved to finally share the news. "I handed over my position as BAU Unit Chief to Emily Prentiss. She'll do an excellent job, I have no doubt about that." He paused, his line of sight drifting back to the cityscape. "But more importantly, Jack and I entered the Witness Protection Program."

     Carson's eyes widened, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. "That's why you're here in New York..."

     "Partly," Hotch admitted, nodding once. "We moved here at the beginning of November. We've been adjusting to our new identities. Jack is now Colby Branson, and I'm Ted Branson."

     A blend of emotions played across Carson's face—concern, sympathy, and a hint of something deeper, more personal. "Ted Branson," she repeated, testing the name and how it felt on her tongue. Her nose scrunched up in distaste. "It doesn't suit you," she said honestly with a teasing smile, trying to lighten the mood.

     Hotch chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "No, it doesn't. But it's necessary, for now."

     "And career plans?" Carson asked, mentally assessing the implications of this change. "I can't imagine you're content with early retirement."

     "You know me well," he replied, meeting her stare with an intensity that made her breath silently hitch. "I'm planning to become a prosecutor here in New York. It's a process—admission on motion, reciprocity, New York-specific requirements. It'll take some time, but..."

     "By then, you hope to be out of WitSec," she finished for him.

     Hotch nodded, a determined set to his jaw. "Exactly. It's not ideal, but it's what needs to be done to keep Jack safe."

     In that moment, Carson's admiration for Hotch grew more. His unwavering dedication to his son and willingness to upend his entire life for Jack's safety, it was all so quintessentially him.

     "Aaron," she said quietly, taking the initiative to bridge the gap and rest her hand on his. "I'm so sorry you're going through this. I'm glad you're here and that you felt you could come here and trust me with this, though."

     To Carson's complete surprise, Hotch turned his hand and slowly intertwined their fingers. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, and she couldn't help but smile lightly.

     This is nice.

     "There's something else," he confessed, staring at their hands. "When the time came, I requested that we be relocated to New York."

     Blinking, Carson's face blanked. "How come? It's still relatively close to Quantico. Wouldn't it make more sense to go somewhere further away?"

     A small smile played on Hotch's lips and he glanced up. Carson saw a flicker of vulnerability and something else—something that made her heart skip a beat. "It would have," he admitted, shrugging. "But there were... other factors I considered." His eyes traced and memorized every feature of hers, and he was content. It'd been a while since he'd felt that.

     Their gazes locked, and volumes of unspoken feelings passed between them. Carson felt a spark ignite in her chest, fueled by hope and nervous anticipation. The air around them seemed to crackle with electricity.

     Clearing his throat, Hotch broke the spell. "So, how have you been, Carson?" he asked, lightly squeezing her hand.

     Without realizing it, Carson returned the gesture and missed the smile that appeared on Hotch's lips. "Busy. I've been busy," she said with a small laugh. "The firm and my clients keep me on my toes. And Parker—she's thriving. She and Zoe just celebrated their six-month anniversary, which was super sweet. She's still engrossed with soccer, the mathlete team, and the upcoming debate club tournament as you know, but that's about it. Finals are next week and she's been studying all day every day. She's stressed, and I've been doing what I can to provide a supportive environment."

     "It sounds like both of you have a lot going on," he remarked, raising an impressed brow.

     "That's an understatement, but yes, we do," she agreed, leaning into the couch. "Work's been challenging lately. One of my many big cases right now is getting trickier by the day. I had a meeting with my team about it before you arrived."

     Hotch leaned back too, intrigued. "What's going on with the case, if you don't mind sharing?"

     "Well," she sighed, staring blankly at the stack of papers on the coffee table, "it's a complex merger case involving AI companies. TechInclusion is trying to acquire SmartAlgo, but during due diligence, it was discovered that there might be potential trade secret theft. Three former high-level SmartAlgo employees joined a startup called NexTab Solutions, and there's strong evidence they took proprietary algorithms with them."

     She ran a hand through her curled hair, frustration evident in her next words. "And the opposing counsel, Declan Montgomery, is a condescending asshole. He called earlier today, and we sort of got into it. He tried to brush off the theft as a 'misunderstanding' so I filed for an immediate injunction."

     A smirk pulled at Hotch's lips, and he snorted. "He didn't like that, did he?"

     "Nope," Carson said, popping the 'p'. "Everyone knows his clients did what they're accused of. It's just a matter of making a rock-solid and compelling case for the judge and proving it."

     "And I have no doubt you'll do just that," he said, accidentally grazing his knees against hers when he shifted. "How are you handling it?"

     Opening her mouth to answer, Carson's smartwatch beeped, signaling that it was a quarter to four. Her eyes widened as she glanced at the device, a small "Oh!" escaping her. She nearly cursed, not realizing how fast the time had gone by.

     "I'm sorry," she sighed, disappointment coloring her tone. "I have to prepare for my meeting with the Innocence Project." The words came out in a rush, tinged with regret at having to cut their time short.

     However, neither of them moved. Truthfully, neither wanted to. It'd been a long time since they'd seen each other and so much had changed, both with them and in their lives. Their hands were still intertwined and Carson found herself staring.

     After a second, Hotch nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. "Of course," he said softly, squeezing her hand again. "I didn't mean to keep you from your work."

     Immediately, her head shot up. "I don't mind," she muttered, unsure if he heard her.

     He did.

     Hotch squeezed a final time. "I should go." As if breaking a spell, they both began to move. Their hands separated slowly, fingers trailing against each other for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. The loss of contact left a noticeable absence, like a sudden chill in a warm room.

     Carson stood first and habitually smoothed out her silk blouse. Hotch followed suit. The shift in perspective brought reality rushing back in. The muffled sounds of the bustling law firm beyond Carson's office door became more pronounced—a reminder of the working world waiting for her.

     Standing face to face, Carson had to look up slightly to meet Hotch's gaze. The height difference between them, something she'd never paid much attention to before, suddenly felt significant.

     A strand of hair fell during the movement, and for a brief moment, Hotch's hand twitched at his side, resisting the urge to brush it away. The gesture, aborted before it began, didn't go unnoticed. All it did was have Carson wish, deep down, he'd tuck the strand away.

     As quickly as that thought crossed her mind, she pushed it away. She couldn't be thinking about that right now.

     "Thank you for taking the time to see me, Carson."

     Nodding, a new, small smile grew. "It was my pleasure. Really." She faltered when another impulsive thought came to mind. Unlike last time, though, she didn't push it aside and boldly acted on it. "Actually, before you go..."

     Her voice trailed off, the invitation to Parker's soccer game on the tip of her tongue. The words hung in the air, unspoken but almost tangible. Carson's slight hesitation was visible in the way she closed her mouth and pulled back an inch, it was a rare display of uncertainty.

     Hotch waited patiently, his eyes never leaving her face. There was a light in his gaze, an openness that encouraged her to continue.

     "Parker has an intramural soccer game this Friday at 6:30. You and Colby are welcome to come if you'd like." She paused, and quickly added, "No pressure, of course."

     The invitation was laden with hinted implications. Carson searched his countenance, trying to gauge his reaction. She was very aware of how this could be perceived—either as a simple friendly gesture or something more.

     A smile appeared. Hotch's eyes crinkled at the corners, a sight that made Carson's heart skip a beat. "Yeah, that'd be nice," he said, nodding.

      Relief washed over her, followed closely by excitement. She smiled back, feeling a slight flush creep up her neck. "Great," she breathed, not realizing she'd been holding her breath since she asked. "Parker will be thrilled to meet Colby and see you both there."

     It went unsaid that Hotch more than appreciated her effort to use Jack's cover name. It was more proof that he made the right decision to come to New York and confide in her.

     "I'll text you the details," Carson said without thinking. Her eyes almost widened when she realized her mistake. "Oh, wait," she backtracked swiftly, a hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. "You've probably changed your number, haven't you?"

     Hotch held back a smile and nodded. "I have," he confirmed, reaching into his pocket for his phone. "Here, I'll give you my new number."

     As he recited the number, Carson put it in her phone at lightning-fast speed. Her fingers danced across the screen, muscle memory from years of rapid-fire texts and emails. The simple act of exchanging numbers felt oddly intimate—a bridge being rebuilt between them after weeks of silence. Carson found herself savoring the moment and committing each number to memory.

     "Got it," she said, looking up from her phone to find Hotch watching her intently. Their eyes met, and for a beat, the world stood still. It was just the two of them in this suspended moment. Carson could see every speck of color in Hotch's dark eyes and every line etched by time and experience. For a second, she wondered what he saw and thought when he looked at her.

     Subtly clearing his throat, Hotch blinked. "I'll let you prepare for your meeting." He took a step toward the door, his movement propelling them both back into the flow of time.

     Carson nodded, her professional demeanor slipping back into place like a well-worn mask. Yet beneath the surface, her emotions bubbled and churned. She walked Hotch to the door and their steps fell into sync naturally, as if they'd walked side by side a thousand times before.

     Just as Hotch reached for the door handle, his fingers barely grazing the cool metal, he halted. Glancing back at Carson, his gaze softened. "It was really good to see you, Carson," he murmured, his stare conveying more than his words.

     "You too," she replied, equally as soft. "I'm glad you're here in New York." The words carried the weight of everything unsaid, everything they'd been through, and everything she hoped could lie ahead.

     With a final nod and a smile that illuminated his entire face, Hotch opened the door and stepped into the busy bullpen. Carson watched him go, taking in his retreating form—the broad shoulders, the confident stride that she'd come to associate with him. It was a sight both familiar and new.

     The door closed with a faint click, and she leaned against the cool glass. She took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the rise and fall of her chest as she tried to calm her racing heart. The scent of Hotch's cologne lingered, a quiet reminder of his presence.

     Now, the world felt a little brighter, and the future a little more promising than it had been an hour ago.

── 𐀔 ──

     THE ELEVATOR DOORS SLID OPEN WITH AN ELEGANT DING, REVEALING THE HUSHED ELEGANCE OF THE TOP FLOOR. Carson stepped out, her stilettos clicking against the marble flooring, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor. The transition from the hectic city streets to this was almost jarring. She dug around the inside of her purse, searching for her keys. When she pulled them out, the metal jingled in harmony with the clacking of her stilettos on the polished marble floor.

     Coming to a stop in front of a black oak door, Carson quickly unlocked the three locks. She pushed the door open and slipped inside, letting out a sigh that made her shoulders slump. Home sweet home.

     Locking the door, she kicked off her stilettos. The shoes skittered across the gleaming hardwood floors, coming to rest near a sleek console table that held a bowl for keys and two framed photos. The first, in a simple silver frame, was from Parker's adoption day six years ago. An 11-year-old Parker stood next to Carson outside a courthouse, both of their faces alight with joy. Parker's curls were short, wild, and untamed, her smile wide and gap-toothed. Carson, looking younger and somehow softer, had her arm around Parker's shoulders, her eyes shining with unshed happy tears.

     The second photo, also in a simple silver frame, was from last year's mother-daughter charity tennis tournament. Carson and Parker were wearing matching tennis outfits, rackets in hand, caught mid-laugh. Parker was mimicking Carson's signature raised eyebrow look, while Carson was playfully sticking out her tongue. A small trophy sat next to the frame—their award for winning the tournament.

     A bang resounded when Carson successfully tossed her keys into the black bowl. Shrugging her coat off, she hung it in the closet to the left of the front door. She shut the closet and ran a hand through her slightly disheveled hair. And that's when she noticed it—the unmistakable smell of something burning wafting from the kitchen.

     The clanging of pots didn't help either, and Carson hastily walked down the hallway, which led straight into the kitchen and open-concept living area. Rounding the corner on the right, she stopped dead in her tracks.

     There, amidst a chaos of ingredients and cooking implements that would make even the most seasoned chef blanch, stood Parker. Her daughter's curly hair was pulled back in a messy bun, streaks of what looked suspiciously like tomato sauce decorating her cheeks like war paint. The fan above the stove was turned on high and smoke permeated the entire space.

     Parker looked up through the haze, a wooden spoon in one hand and a charred oven mitt in the other. Her expression was the perfect blend of shock and sheepishness. "Oh, hey there... you..." she said, attempting a casual tone belied by the thin wisp of smoke rising from a pot on the stove. "As you can see, I was going to surprise you with dinner, but I think I might've surprised the smoke alarm instead. I have a feeling it's going to go off very soon."

     Carson raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching with barely suppressed amusement. "Well," she drawled, nodding slowly, "at least you'll be keeping the fire department on their toes. I'm sure they appreciate the practice runs."

     Rolling her eyes, a grin broke through her attempted scowl. "Ha ha, very funny," she scoffed, waving a particularly thick cloud of smoke away. "Are you going to help me salvage this disaster or just stand there and critique my cooking skills?"

     "Cooking skills? Is that what we're calling this?" Carson remarked, already moving to turn off the stove. "That's generous, and I can do both, by the way."

     Together, they set about rescuing what they could of Parker's culinary experiment. Carson expertly scraped the burnt bits off the bottom of a pan while Parker furiously whisked a lumpy sauce.

     "Oh, wow," Carson muttered as she peered into a pot of what was supposed to be pasta. "I think this linguine has achieved sentience. It might be plotting world domination as I speak."

     Parker snorted, nearly dropping her whisk. "Hey now! Don't insult my pasta. It's sensitive."

     "Sensitive? Lovie, that pasta is tougher than some of the lawyers I face in court. Hell, I could use it to re-sole my stilettos."

     Laughter filled the kitchen, punctuated by a series of curses as the pair battled with stubborn ingredients and uncooperative utensils. Finally, they managed to cobble together something that resembled a meal—all it took was for someone to stand about ten feet back and squint to see the vision.

     Head tilted to the right and lips twisted to the side, Carson squinted at the linguine. Part of her felt like she'd just been on an episode of Kitchen Nightmares. Thankfully, though, she wasn't covered in food anymore. She'd changed into a random set of pajamas and thoroughly washed her hands.

     "You know... I've seen worse," she admitted, shrugging.

     Parker also twisted her lips to the side and put her hands on her hips. She squinted until she could barely see. "I agree," she muttered, appreciating how nice it looked when she couldn't see it.

     "Well, bon appétit."

     As they finally settled at the dining table, Carson couldn't help but smile at the familiar routine. The table was set with their mismatched favorite plates—Carson's The Beatles plate alongside Parker's Star Wars collectibles. A vase of slightly wilted pansies (Carson's latest attempt at apartment gardening) sat precariously between them.

     "So, stink," Carson started, twirling her fork in the slightly overcooked pasta, "how was your day? Aside from your valiant attempt to burn down our kitchen."

     Immediately, her daughter's eyes lit up. Her hands were moving animatedly before she even got a word out.

     "Well, the most amazing and sweet and caring girl in the world, also known as my girlfriend, surprised me with dahlias. She knows how stressed I am right now, and wanted to do something to cheer me up. She was super successful if I say so myself. I put the flowers in my room."

     Carson pulled one of her knees up in her chair and leaned against it. Every night, they did a daily recap and she always looked forward to it.

     "Anyway, first period was AP Calculus, and Ms. Rodriguez threw a pop quiz at us. But get this—I finished it in record time and I'm pretty sure I aced it."

     "That's my girl," Carson grinned proudly, giving her a high-five. "I'd expect nothing less from Princeton's future math prodigy."

     Winking at her mom, Parker resumed. "The rest of my classes were normal, nothing notable happened. After school, I had that killer soccer practice I wasn't looking forward to. Coach Wu is really ramping up our drills for Friday's game. I think I sweated out half my body weight, but my corner kicks are getting so much better. So, a win is a win.

     "Oh, and then there was mathlete practice," Parker added, her voice rising with excitement. "We had another mock competition to prepare for Saturday's meet, and Mom, I freaking crushed it! I beat every member of the team in record time."

     Carson's eyes widened; however, she wasn't surprised. Her daughter was a genius, in her book, when it came to mathematics. "Holy shit, Parks," she breathed, dropping her fork and raising both hands. "That's amazing! You're going to kill it at the competition."

     Completing the double high-five, Parker beamed. "Thank you! I'm feeling more reassured about it. It's just soccer and the debate club that I have to worry about when it comes to extracurriculars." She reached for her glass of water. "Anyway, enough about my day. I don't want to get more stressed than I already am. How was yours? Anything interesting or dramatic happen at the firm or during any of your meetings?"

     Carson hesitated for a moment, her fork pausing midway to her mouth. She could feel a wave of heat creeping up her neck. "Well, actually... Aaron Hotchner stopped by my office today."

     Parker's eyes widened, her glass freezing halfway to her lips. "Wait... like F.B.I. Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner?" she double-checked, lowering the drink. "The one from last year? The one you've been talking to?"

     Nodding, the blush spread across Carson's cheeks and her ears burned. She hadn't felt this flustered in a while, and the fact that it was over a man—over Aaron Hotchner—was both thrilling and terrifying.

     "Oh, my God!" her daughter exclaimed, nearly knocking over her water glass when she put it back on the table. At the last second, her hand shot out to steady it. The ice cubes clinked against the sides, a tinkling accompaniment to her enthusiasm. "I knew it! Melanie and I totally called this last year."

     At the mention of Melanie's name, both their gazes instinctively drifted to a framed photo on a nearby shelf. The picture, taken on New Year's Eve in 2014, showed Melanie with her arms around Carson and Parker, all of them grinning widely at the camera. Melanie's bright smile lit up the room, even from the static image. Her wave hair was caught mid-bounce, and the sparkler in her hand left a trail of light across the photo.

     There was a moment of shared grief—a heaviness that settled over them like a blanket. Carson could see the dimming in Parker's eyes, the way her smile faltered for just a second. But as quickly as it came, the moment passed, replaced by warm remembrance. They both knew Melanie would have been over the moon at this news.

     "This is great, Mom!" Parker continued, physically shaking off the sadness. Her excitement was discernible, her words coming out in a rush. "You deserve some happiness. So, are you two...?" She left the question hanging, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

     Carson held up a hand, her expression a mix of amusement and caution. Her lawyer instincts kicked in and urged her to choose her words carefully. "Whoa, whoa. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We're friends." Even as she said it, she could hear the lack of conviction in her own voice.

     "Uh-huh." Parker's knowing look could have rivaled any seasoned detective's. Her eyes narrowed and a smirk played at the edges of her mouth. "'Friends' who've been sending handwritten letters for over a year and text regularly, sometimes phone calls... Sure, Mom. Whatever you say." Her sarcasm was thick enough to cut with a knife.

     Carson rolled her eyes for the umpteenth time, but she couldn't quite hide the involuntary smile.

     A beat of silence fell between them, broken only by the soft clink of silverware against plates. The city lights twinkled beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a sparkling glow over the dining area. In the background, the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant honking of car horns created a familiar urban lullaby.

     Eventually, Parker worked up the courage to ask a question she'd been sitting on for a while now. "Mom," she said softly, her tone serious. The abrupt change in her demeanor made Carson look up sharply. Parker's eyes were earnest, her brows pinched. "Would you ever consider pursuing something with him? I know he lives in Quantico and it's long distance, but... I think it could be worth it."

     Carson took a deep breath, the air filling her lungs as she considered her response. It was a question she'd also asked herself. "Actually," she began, twirling her fork again, "Aaron and Jack have moved to New York."

     At the revelation, Parker's eyebrows shot up so fast they nearly disappeared into her hairline. Her mouth fell open in a perfect 'O' of surprise. "What? Why? Did something happen?" The questions came rapid-fire, her curiosity and concern evident in every syllable.

     Running a hand through her hair, Carson nodded. For the next few minutes, she encountered the conversation with Hotch and explained the situation with Peter Lewis, the serial killer known as Mr. Scratch. She detailed the threats against Jack, watching Parker's eyes grow in horror. Lastly, she explained Hotch's difficult decision to enter the Witness Protection Program, leaving behind his career and life in Quantico, and choosing to move there.

     When she finished, Parker was quiet and processing the information. Her brow was furrowed and her lips pressed into a thin line. The gravity of the situation was palpable, but she could only focus on specific elements. Then, like the sun breaking through clouds, a sly grin spread across her face.

     "So... he held your hand and basically implied he moved to New York for you?"

     "Parker!" Carson exclaimed, exasperated. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks again. "Is that really all you got from that?!"

     Parker shrugged, unashamed. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "What? It's romantic!" She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. "Come on, Mom. A guy moves across states, possibly for you? That's straight out of a romance novel!"

     Carson shook her head while smiling. Her daughter's enthusiasm was infectious, and she didn't necessarily disagree with her. "While we're on the topic of Aaron and Jack," she said, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground, "I... I invited them to your soccer game on Friday."

     Instead of being upset or feeling more pressure for Friday's game than she already did, Parker lit up like Times Square. "Really? That's awesome!" She was practically vibrating with excitement. "I'm looking forward to seeing them and meeting Jack."

     "You are?" Carson asked, a little surprised. She'd been worried about how Parker would react to Hotch and Jack's potential presence in their lives.

     "Of course!" Parker grinned, her smile wide and genuine. Then, with a mischievous glint, she added, "Maybe Jack and I can team up to play matchmaker."

     "Parker, he's eleven," Carson deadpanned, staring at her daughter blankly. "Don't go putting any ideas in his head."

     Parker's grin only broadened and she shrugged. "Kids can be surprisingly perceptive, Mom. Who knows? He might already have some ideas of his own."

     Carson shook her head, a combination of exasperation and fondness in her expression. "You're insufferable sometimes, you know that?"

     "I learned from the best," Parker quipped, raising her water glass in a mock toast.

     Laughter filled the apartment. The evening had taken an unexpected turn, but sitting here with her daughter, discussing possibilities she hadn't allowed herself to consider in years, felt right somehow.

     Standing up, Parker gathered their plates and silverware. When she passed by Carson's chair, she paused and placed a hand on her mom's shoulder. "For what it's worth, Mom," she said, her words soft and sincere, "I think you and Agent Hotchner would be great together. You deserve happiness, and if he's the one who brings that to you, then I'm all for it."

     Carson reached up and squeezed Parker's hand. "Thank you, stink," she murmured, appreciating her unwavering support and approval. It meant more than she could convey right now.

     After returning the gesture, Parker let go and went to the kitchen. She called over her shoulder, "Just promise me one thing?"

     "What's that?"

     The response floated back, accompanied by the sound of running water. "When you two finally get together, remember that these walls are pretty thin. I don't need to hear any... celebratory noises."

     "I—Oh, my God! PARKER!"

── 𐀔 ──

﹙ 𝕱RIDAY ━ 𝕯ECEMBER 9TH, 2016 ﹚

     THE CRISP DECEMBER AIR NIPPED AT CARSON'S CHEEKS AS SHE HURRIED ACROSS THE PARKING LOT OF WASHINGTON HEIGHTS MAGNET SCHOOL. The rhythmic padding of her Converse on asphalt gave way to a soft crunch when she stepped onto the gravel path leading to the soccer field. Even from a distance, the energy of the gathering crowd was noticeable, a low hum of excitement that seemed to vibrate in the air.

     Approaching the field, Carson was enveloped by the sights, sounds, and smells of the Friday night game. The harsh glare of floodlights cut through the early evening darkness, bathing the emerald turf in an almost ethereal glow. Silhouettes of players warming up on the field cast long, distorted shadows that danced on the grass.

     The aroma of buttered popcorn wafted from a nearby concession stand, mingling with the sharp scent of freshly cut grass and the faint musk of athletic gear. Carson inhaled deeply, the familiar cocktail of smells reminding her of all the past games. So far, she hadn't missed a single one regardless of her work schedule, and she planned on keeping it that way for all of Parker's school and life events.

     Family first, work second.

     A cacophony of sounds flooded her ears: the shrill whistle of the referee testing his equipment, the dull thud of soccer balls being kicked during warm-ups, and the excited chatter of people filing into the bleachers. She could hear snippets of conversation—proud parents discussing their kid's or the team's skills, students placing bets on the game's outcome, and the occasional bark of laughter.

     As Carson made her way to the bleachers, she marveled at the turnout and greeted the parents and students she knew. Washington Heights took their intramural sports seriously, and it showed. The stands were already half-full, a sea of faces awash in the school's colors of navy and gold. Some people clutched steaming cups of coffee or hot chocolate, their breath visible in small puffs in the winter air.

     Finding an empty spot on the aluminum bleachers, Carson settled in and placed her purse next to her, ensuring Hotch and Jack would have a place to sit. Her eyes automatically started scanning the field for a glimpse of Parker while she waited. It took a few seconds before she located her.

     Parker stood near the goal, her curly hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, laughing with a teammate as they stretched. The easy confidence in Parker's stance, the fluid grace of her movements when she started kicking the ball back and forth with her friends, spoke volumes about how far she'd come.

     A small smile played on Carson's lips and she watched Parker execute a perfect scissor move, effortlessly maneuvering the ball away from a defending teammate. There was a time when the mere thought of playing in front of a crowd would have sent Parker into a panic. Now, she owned the field like it was an extension of herself.

     It was beautiful.

     As the coach gathered the team for a pre-game huddle, Carson saw Parker's expression shift. The laughter faded and was replaced by a look of intense focus that Carson recognized all too well—it was the same expression she wore when preparing for a crucial court case. Parker's shoulders squared back and her chin lifted slightly. She was becoming the team captain the team needed.

     Pride swelled in Carson's chest, not only for Parker's athletic abilities but for the strong, resilient young woman she'd become. No matter what life continued to throw at her—throw at them—she faced it head-on and emerged stronger on the other side.

     Lost in her thoughts, Carson nearly missed the movement in her peripheral vision. She turned her head and froze. There, making their way through the crowd, were two familiar figures—Aaron Hotchner and his son, Jack.

     Carson's heart skipped a beat while she watched the pair navigate through the crowd. Hotch looked more casual than on Tuesday—more relaxed in dark jeans and a navy sweater with a tan jacket. Jack, now Colby, looked exactly like he did in the pictures Hotch had sent her. He was trailing closely behind his dad, eyes wide as he took in the teeming atmosphere of the game.

     Without thinking, Carson's hand moved to smooth down her hair, suddenly self-conscious. She'd come straight from the office and changed in the car while Jimmy drove, throwing on jeans, a grey sweater, her black trench coat, and Parker's colorful striped scarf. Her hair was still in its low bun, but she had no idea if the wind had messed it up.

     The flutter in her stomach intensified as Hotch's eyes scanned the bleachers, clearly looking for her. Eventually, their gazes met, and he broke into a smile that made Carson's breath catch. She stood up, raising a hand in a small wave. He returned it and began steering him and Jack in her direction.

     While waiting, Carson was feeling oddly nervous. She had to keep reminding herself that this wasn't a first date nor did they have plans for one. They were friends. This was a casual meeting at a school event.

     "Carson," Hotch greeted when they reached her, nearly lost in the chatter of the crowd. There was a moment of awkward hesitation—should they shake hands? Hug?—before Hotch settled for a gentle touch on her elbow. "Thanks for inviting us."

     "I'm glad you could make it," she replied, hoping the floodlights masked the flush she could feel creeping up her neck. She turned her attention to Jack, crouching to meet his eye level. "And you must be Colby. I've heard a lot about you."

     Jack's face dawned with recognition. "You're Carson!" he exclaimed, then looked up at his father with a knowing grin. "Dad talks about you all the time."

     Clearing his throat, a rare look of embarrassment crossed Hotch's features. "Colby..." he said, his tone carrying a note of warning.

     Carson couldn't help but chuckle, charmed by Jack's frankness. "All good things, I hope."

     "Oh yeah," Jack nodded enthusiastically. "Dad says you're really smart and funny and—"

     "Hey, look," Hotch interrupted, his voice slightly higher than usual. "The game's about to start. We should sit down."

     Nodding in agreement, Carson moved her purse and they sat down. Jack was positioned between the two adults, practically shaking with excitement for the game to begin.

     Sneaking a glance at Hotch, Carson noticed he was studiously avoiding her gaze, a hint of color high on his cheekbones. A warm glow of pleasure washed over her when Jack's words replayed in her mind.

     "So, Colby," she said, deciding to spare Hotch further embarrassment for the moment. "How are you liking New York so far? Have you had a chance to explore much?"

     Jack's infectious happiness grew. "It's so cool!" he answered, his hands animatedly punctuating each word. "Everything's so big and bright. Dad took me to Central Park last weekend, and we saw this really old castle right in the middle of it!"

     Carson nodded, her eyes twinkling with interest. "Belvedere Castle? It's beautiful, isn't it? Did you know it's not actually a real castle? It was built as a Victorian folly—that's like a fancy decoration for the park."

     "Really?" Jack's jaw dropped, mindblown. "That's awesome! Did you learn that in lawyer school?"

     Laughing, Carson broke into a smile. "Not exactly. I just love learning about the city. Now, what else have you discovered about New York? I want to hear all about it."

     As Jack launched into a detailed account of their visit to the American Museum of Natural History, Carson listened intently, her body angled toward him, giving him her full attention despite the craziness around them. She nodded at all the right moments, her expressions mirroring Jack's excitement.

      "...and then we saw this huge dinosaur skeleton!" Jack spread his arms wide, nearly hitting Hotch in the process. "It was taller than our old house!"

     "Hmm, that must be the T-Rex," Carson said, matching his fervor. "Did you know that when they first put it on display, they got the tail all wrong? They had it dragging on the ground like a lizard."

     He giggled, delighted by the conversation with her. "No way! How did they fix it?"

     "Well," she leaned in conspiratorially as if sharing a great secret, "they had to do a lot more digging and studying. Eventually, they realized T-Rexes held their tails up for balance, kind of like how you'd hold your arms out if you were walking on a balance beam."

      "Whoa..." Jack breathed, absorbing the information with fascination. Then, his brow furrowed when a question hit him. "Hey, how come you know so much about dinosaurs?"

     A hint of nostalgia presented itself in her countenance. "When I was about your age, I wanted to be a paleontologist," Carson admitted, briefly reflecting on her childhood. "I read every book about dinosaurs I could get my hands on."

     "What made you become a lawyer instead?" Jack asked, genuinely curious.

     Pausing, she considered her answer and how to phrase it. "Well, I realized I liked figuring out puzzles and helping people even more than I liked dinosaurs. Being a lawyer lets me do both."

     Jack nodded sagely for this made perfect sense to him. "That's kind of like how Dad catches bad guys. He has to solve puzzles too."

     "That's right," she agreed, glancing at Hotch, who had been silently observing their interaction with a faint smile. "Your dad is very good at solving puzzles."

     Suddenly, the referee's whistle signaled the start of the game, and everyone's attention was drawn to the field. Before Jack turned away, he stared at Carson with a grin. "You're really cool," he declared matter-of-factly. "Dad was right about you."

     Carson felt a blush creep up her cheeks, touched by Jack's candid approval. It was important to her that she and Jack got along, and that he liked her.

     Once the game kicked off, the energy in the stands shifted. Carson's attention snapped to the field, her eyes immediately finding Parker among the navy and gold uniforms. Her daughter's ponytail bounced as she sprinted into position, every movement purposeful and focused.

     "Which one is Parker?" Jack asked, squinting at the field. Almost everyone looked the same to him.

     Carson pointed out at a particular player standing alone, a hint of pride present when she responded, "Number 14, right there in the midfield. See how she's directing her teammates? She's the team captain."

     Leaning behind Jack and to the left, Hotch commented, "She looks like she really knows what she's doing out there."

     Nodding, she tried to ignore the flutter in her stomach at his proximity. She could feel his breath on her, and it sent shivers down her spine. "She's come so far since she started playing. I barely recognize her out there sometimes."

     As if on cue, Parker intercepted a pass from the opposing team, her feet moving in a blur as she dribbled the ball downfield. Before she knew it, Carson was on her feet and cheering along with the rest of the crowd.

     "GO, PARKER! THAT'S IT, KEEP GOING!" she shouted, her usual composure forgotten. At school events, she was never Carson-the-lawyer, just Carson.

     Parker passed the ball to a teammate at the same time an opposing player slid in for a tackle. Everyone gasped collectively but erupted in cheers when one of Parker's teammates scored.

     "Wow!" Jack exclaimed, jumping up and down. "That was awesome! Did you see how fast she moved?"

     Carson beamed, her chest swelling with pride. "That's my girl," she said, more to herself than anyone else.

     As the game progressed, she alternated between focusing on the field and talking to Hotch and Jack. Soon, the roar of the crowd faded into a low murmur as the game entered a lull. Hotch turned to Carson, his expression softening in a way that made her heart skip a beat.

     "It's admirable how dedicated you are to Parker," he said quietly and sincerely. The floodlights cast shadows across his face, accentuating the strong line of his jaw and the warmth in his dark eyes. "I know how challenging it can be to balance work and being a single parent."

     Meeting his stare, Carson felt a flutter in her stomach that had nothing to do with the game. She cracked a small smile, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you." A shiver ran through her body, partly from the winter chill and partly from the intensity of his gaze. "It's not always easy, but she's worth every moment."

     She paused, rubbing her hands together for warmth before continuing. "How are you and Colby settling into New York? I can imagine it's quite an adjustment."

     Hotch took a second before answering, his breath visible in the cold air. His eyes searched her face, looking for something beyond her words. "It's been challenging," he admitted, raising his shoulders. "But seeing him adapt so well and starting to enjoy it... it makes it all worthwhile."

     He glanced at Jack, who was leaning forward on the bleacher, completely engrossed in the game. The corner of Hotch's mouth quirked up in a small, fond smile before he turned back to Carson. "Having a friendly face here helps too," he added, his voice taking on a softer quality.

     The look he gave her then was one she'd seen numerous times since his surprise visit to her office on Monday. It was an expression that caught her off guard every time—filled with compassion, admiration, and something deeper that she recognized but was hesitant to name. She supposed she stared at him the same way, though she tried not to dwell on what that could mean.

     Suddenly, the shrill sound of the halftime whistle interrupted the moment. The crowd around them surged to life, people standing and stretching and a series of chatter and cheers reverberated. Players started making their way off the field.

     Out of the corner of her eye, Carson spotted Parker working her way through the masses. Her face was flushed with exertion and pieces of hair clung to her skin.

     In silent unison, Carson, Hotch, and Jack stood and descended the bleachers. They stopped short on a patch of grass to wait. A few minutes passed by. Parker kept getting stopped by parents and classmates who wanted to talk to her. Eventually, she escaped.

     "Mom!" Parker called out as she approached, her breathing heavy but her eyes bright with excitement. Sweat glistened on her forehead, and her ponytail was in disarray. She stopped short when she saw Hotch and Jack, her expression flickering with recognition before settling into a smile. "Oh, my gosh, hey! You made it!"

     "Wouldn't miss it," Hotch replied with a smile. "You're doing great out there."

      "Thanks," Parker beamed, her chest still heaving up and down. She turned her attention to Jack, who was looking at her with a mix of awe and curiosity. "Hey there," she said, her tone friendly and breathless. "I'm Parker. You must be Ted's son? Colby?"

     Jack nodded happily, his earlier shyness erased. "Yeah! It's nice to meet you," he said. "I play soccer too. Do you think you could teach me some new moves sometime?"

     "Absolutely!" she answered, pulling her hair into a new ponytail with her gloved hands. "Maybe after the game, if it's okay with your dad?"

     Before Hotch could react, the whistle blew again, signaling the start of the second half. Parker's head whipped around toward the field, her body already tensing to return to the game. Fifteen minutes full of talking to people went by all too quickly.

     "Gotta go!" she sighed, already backing away. "See you after the game!" With a wave, she turned and sprinted back to the field, her cleats kicking up small clods of grass.

     As the game resumed and Carson, Hotch, and Jack took their seats again, the atmosphere in the stadium shifted. The casual chatter of halftime gave way to a tense silence, broken only by the occasional shout from the sidelines or the thud of cleats against the ball.

     Carson found herself perched on the edge of her seat. She could feel the cold metal of the bleacher through her clothes, but she barely noticed, all her attention focused on the game. The score was tied, and with each passing minute, the desperation of both teams became more evident in their moves.

     During particularly close calls, Carson unconsciously leaned closer to Hotch, their shoulders almost brushing. Neither noticed. However, once or twice, their eyes met briefly.

     Jack, caught up in the intensity of the game, alternated between cheering loudly and asking rapid-fire questions about the plays. Hotch answered patiently and occasionally pointed at the game.

     As the clock ticked down to the final minute, the tension in the stands was almost unbearable. Carson's hands were clasped so tightly in front of her that her knuckles had gone white. She barely blinked, afraid to miss a single moment.

     Suddenly, with mere seconds left, Parker got possession of the ball. The crowd rose to its feet as one, a wall of sound that physically pushed Parker forward. Carson's heart pounded so hard she could feel it in her throat.

     "Come on, Parker!" she screamed, her hands cupped around her mouth. Her throat was raw with emotion and strain. "YOU'VE GOT IT!"

     Time seemed to slow, the world narrowing to Parker and the ball. Carson watched, barely breathing, as her daughter weaved through the opposing team's defense. Parker's movements were fluid, almost dance-like, each step and turn perfectly calculated.

     When Parker approached the goal, Carson felt like her heart might burst from her chest. The goalkeeper crouched, ready to spring, his eyes locked on Parker. With a grace that belied the pressure of the moment, Parker drew back her leg and kicked.

     The ball soared through the air, a perfect arc that hung suspended for an eternity. The goalkeeper lept with his fingers outstretched, but he was a fraction too late. The ball sailed past his hands and into the net.

     For a split second, there was nothing. Then, as if a dam had burst, the stands erupted in a deafening roar. Carson jumped up and down and she cheered at the top of her lungs. Beside her, Hotch and Jack were on their feet too, their faces alight with excitement as they clapped and shouted.

     The final whistle blew, sealing Washington Heights' victory, and Carson watched with tears in her eyes as Parker was mobbed by her teammates. Her daughter's face was radiant with joy and triumph, her arms raised in celebration.

     After the initial surge of celebration began to subside, everyone started to disperse. Carson, Hotch, and Jack made their way down from the bleachers, joining the flow of people heading toward the exits. Instead of leaving, though, they moved to the edge of the field and found a spot where they could wait for Parker.

     Carson's line of sight never left her daughter as Parker made the rounds, hugging teammates and receiving congratulations from the coach. She felt a surge of pride so intense it almost hurt. Beside her, she was still aware of Hotch's presence. Standing in front of them, Jack was tapping his foot, evidently impatient to congratulate Parker himself.

     That's so sweet, Carson thought.

     Finally, Parker broke away from her team and jogged toward the three. Her face was flushed, her hair had mostly escaped its ponytail again, and her uniform was streaked with grass stains. To Carson, she never looked more beautiful.

     "Mom!" When Parker reached them, she held up a hand, signaling them to wait while she fought to catch her breath. Then, with a grin that stretched from ear to ear, she uttered just two words:

     "Ice cream."

── 𐀔 ──

     THE BELL ABOVE THE DOOR CHIMED A MERRY RENDITION OF JINGLE BELLS WHEN THE GROUP OF FOUR STEPPED INTO SCOOPS & SMILES ICE CREAM PARLOR. A wave of sweetness enveloped them immediately—the mingled aromas of fresh waffle cones and sugary confections with a hint of peppermint filled the air. The parlor buzzed with the chatter of families and the clink of spoons against glass dishes.

     Retro decor dominated the space with checkerboard floors in pastel pink and mint green, now partly covered by festive red and green rugs adorned with snowflake patterns. Chrome-edged tables gleamed under the glow of vintage pendant lights, each one wrapped in twinkling fairy lights. Red vinyl booths lined the walls, their backs decorated with garlands of faux pine and shimmering tinsel.

     A massive Christmas tree stood in one corner of the shop, its branches heavy with a diverse collection of ice cream-themed ornaments—miniature cones, sundaes, and banana splits nestled among traditional ornaments and strings of fake popcorn. The tree's lights reflected off the frosty glass cases of the serving counter and created a magical, shimmering effect.

     Behind the counter, teenage employees in crisp white uniforms and either reindeer antlers or Santa hats scooped handfuls of colorful ice cream into cups and cones. A hand-painted sign above them announced the day's special: "Mistletoe Mint Chip."

     The ceiling dripped with paper snowflakes of various sizes that swayed gently in the warm currents of air. Each table sported a small centerpiece—a glass bowl filled with red and green M&Ms, topped with a sprig of artificial holly.

     Carson, Parker, Hotch, and Jack paused inside the entrance, their five senses overwhelmed by the festive spectacle and smells. Parker's eyes sparkled with delight, while Jack let out a soft "Wow!"

     The scent of gingerbread wafted from somewhere in the back and Carson perked up. Gingerbread anything was her favorite during the holidays. Holiday music played softly in the background, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or excited comments from the customers.

     Hotch glanced at Carson to see she was trying to search for something on the counter from where they stood, likely a specific ice cream flavor. With a jut of his head, Hotch led the three to the growing queue.

     Once they were in line, their eyes roved over the myriad flavors displayed in the frosty cases. The classics were there, but interspersed among them were seasonal specialties: Candy Cane Swirl, Gingerbread Cookie Dough, and Eggnog Supreme.

     "What's your favorite flavor?" Jack asked, looking up at Parker with undisguised admiration.

     Parker grinned, her ponytail swaying when she bent down to Jack's level. "Maple bacon crunch with Reese's. It sounds bizarre, but trust me, it's mind-blowing."

     Jack's jaw dropped, his eyes growing wide. "No way! That's my favorite too! Well, minus the Reese's. I haven't tried that before. Dad always says I'm the only kid he knows who likes that flavor."

     Over their children's heads, Carson and Hotch exchanged amused glances. They gave each other smiles that made the other's heart skip a beat.

     When their turn came, each order reflected their personalities. Carson chose two scoops of Gingerbread Cookie Dough in a cup, the smell of gingerbread wafting up when the server handed it to her. Hotch opted for Rocky Road in a sugar cone. Parker and Jack, of course, got double scoops of maple bacon crunch in waffle cones with Reese's. Bits of crispy bacon peeked out from the golden-hued ice cream.

     After, they found a booth in the corner beneath a large wreath adorned with miniature ice cream scoops and candy canes. Parker and Jack naturally slid in on one side, their cones held high to prevent drips, leaving Carson and Hotch to sit together.

     Settling in, Carson forced herself to focus on anything but how much Hotch's side pressed into hers. She felt silly for noticing these details and wished she didn't.

     Parker launched into a play-by-play of her winning goal, her free hand gesturing wildly while the other kept a firm grip on her cone. "So there I was, right? The clock's ticking down, and I've got this defender breathing down my neck." She used her spoon to illustrate, weaving it through the air like a soccer ball. "I feint left, then right, and suddenly—boom! There's this tiny gap between the defenders."

     Jack watched, entranced, his ice cream momentarily forgotten. "Then what happened?" he urged, even though he'd been present at the game.

     "I saw the goalie shift his weight ever so slightly," Parker continued, her voice dropping dramatically. "And I knew, in that split second, exactly where to aim." She mimed kicking the ball, nearly knocking over the table's festive centerpiece.

     Carson chuckled, reaching out to steady the bowl of M&Ms. "Don't forget how you psyched out the goalkeeper by looking left before shooting right," she added with a smirk.

     Hanging onto their every word, Jack was enthralled. "Whoa... Is high school soccer always that intense?"

     Taking a bite of her ice cream, Parker teetered her head side to side. "Not always, but the big games? They're something else. You mentioned you play soccer too, right?"

     "Yeah!" Jack nodded eagerly. "I want to join the team when I start middle school next year. Do you think I could come watch one of your practices sometime?"

     "Absolutely!" Parker agreed, more than excited at the idea. "I'll be able to show you those tricks I promised. Aside from that and awesome ice cream combinations, what else do you like?"

     Jack's face was brighter than the Christmas tree in the corner. "I really like astronomy right now. I'm reading this book series about kids who travel through space and time. It's called—"

     "The Cosmic Explorers series?" Parker interrupted, her eyes wide with excitement and jaw dropped. "No way! I devoured those books when I was your age!"

     As the two dove into an animated discussion about their favorite characters and plot twists, Hotch found his focus drawn to Carson. She'd been uncharacteristically quiet for the most part, similarly to him. She was content observing the interaction between the kids. Her posture was relaxed, a gentle smile playing on her lips while she watched Parker and Jack bond.

     Her body language spoke to how at ease she felt—the slight tilt of her head, the warmth in her stare, the way her fingers absently traced patterns on the tabletop. She was completely at ease and cherishing this moment of normalcy.

     In the background, Hotch heard Parker asking Jack about his first impressions of New York. Immediately, Jack recounted their visit to the Museum of Natural History and described the dinosaur exhibits.

     "Oh, yeah," Jack paused, pointing at Carson. "Carson was telling me earlier about how they used to think T-Rexes dragged their tails on the ground. That's so weird to think about now!"

     Carson nodded with a hum. "Mm-hmm. Scientists are always learning new things. Who knows? In a few years, we might discover that T-Rexes were hot pink with polka dots."

     The kids dissolved into giggles at the mental image while Hotch found himself still watching Carson. He noticed the way the glow of the Christmas lights caught the auburn highlights in her hair and the crinkle at the corners of her eyes when she laughed.

     Taking advantage of a lull in the conversation when the kids began debating which dinosaur was the best, Hotch leaned to the left. The act brought with it a whiff of Carson's perfume when he got closer, a faint floral scent that went well with the sweet aroma of the ice cream parlor.

     "It's nice seeing this side of you," he murmured low enough for only her to hear. "Out of the office, relaxed... it suits you."

     Carson felt a flutter in her stomach at the statement, her hand fumbling with her spoon. The cool metal slipped in her fingers, clinking against the glass dish. However, she managed to gather herself.

     "Well, don't get used to it," she quipped, smoothly regaining her composure. A playful smirk drew at the corner of her lips. "I have a reputation to maintain, you know. Can't have the legal world thinking I've gone soft."

     Hotch chuckled, the sound low and rich. He lingered on her face, taking in the soft curve of her smile and how the festive lights reflected in her eyes. "I like both sides equally," he admitted, shrugging. "The fierce lawyer and the devoted mom."

     A blush crept up Carson's neck and flamed her cheeks. She was no stranger to compliments, but coming from Hotch, they held a different weight. She opened her mouth to respond but was momentarily at a loss for words.

     Hotch, sensing her fluster, continued, "It's remarkable, the way you balance it all. I've always admired that about you, Carson."

     Carson's blush deepened and spread to the tips of her ears. She cleared her throat and glanced elsewhere for a second. Her stomach and heart were doing somersaults. "Thank you, Aaron," she said quietly, shyly meeting his stare. "It means a lot, coming from you."

     The short conversation was broken by a sudden peal of laughter from Jack, drawing both adults' attention back to the kids. Parker was in the middle of demonstrating what appeared to be a particularly complex soccer move, using her spoon as a makeshift ball.

     While they watched their children, Hotch's hand brushed against Carson's on the table. It could have been accidental, but she doubted that.

     As the evening wore on, the festive atmosphere of the ice cream parlor seemed to cocoon them in. The holiday music, which had disappeared into the background, now swelled with a rendition of White Christmas, the melody weaving between the various conversations.

     Jack's lively retelling of his school week was punctuated by an unexpected yawn, his hand flying up to cover his mouth mid-sentence. The action didn't go unnoticed by Hotch, whose paternal instincts instantly kicked in.

     "I think someone's ready to call it a night," Hotch said gently, his hand moving to rest on Jack's shoulder.

     A chorus of disappointed "Aww"s rose from both Jack and Parker, their faces falling in perfect synchronization. It was winsome yet comical. The reluctance to end the evening was obvious.

     "Do we have to go, Dad?" Jack pleaded with a frown. "I'm not even tired." His protest was immediately undermined by another yawn, this one even bigger than the last.

     Hotch chuckled, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Nice try, buddy. But I think it's time we headed home."

     As everyone gathered their things and stood up, Jack turned to his dad with an expression of utmost seriousness. His brow furrowed, creating a miniature version of Hotch's own thoughtful look.

     "Dad, will we see Carson and Parker again soon?"

     The question hung in the air, completely reliant on the adults' response to it. The noise of the ice cream parlor faded away, leaving a pocket of anticipatory silence around their small group.

     Hotch's gaze moved deliberately from Jack to the Crests, taking in every nuance of everyone's expressions. Parker stood closely behind her mom, her posture a mix of teenage nonchalance and hardly contained excitement. But it was Carson who held his attention.

     His eyes settled on her, and their warmth and hopefulness made Carson freeze. She felt pinned in place but not by discomfort, by the sheer amount of emotion he was staring at her with. The twinkling Christmas lights reflected in his dark eyes, creating a depth that threatened to pull her in.

     "I hope so," Hotch said softly with an optimistic undertone. The words were simple, but the way he said them with quiet certainty implied something much deeper.

     Parker ducked her head, poorly concealing a knowing smirk. She pressed her lips together tightly. Her line of sight locked onto her sneakers, suddenly finding the worn laces fascinating. Smooth. That was pretty smooth, she thought.

     Carson met Hotch's gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. "We'd like that." The words felt inadequate to express the sense of rightness she'd felt throughout the night.

     The group of four made their way out of the ice cream parlor. The street was quieter and the festive lights of shop windows twinkled against the night. Their collective breath fogged in the air, little clouds dissipating into nothing. Goodbyes were exchanged and they were off.

     Walking to their respective cars, Parker sidled up next to Carson. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. She nudged her mom's side with her elbow "I hope so," she parroted, mimicking Hotch's deep voice with uncanny accuracy.

     Carson rolled her eyes with a growing smile. Her cheeks were pink, and she was trying to ignore how much they burned. "Oh, shut up," she retorted, giving her daughter a gentle shove. The movement caused a small flurry of snowflakes to swirl around them, catching the light like tiny, fleeting stars.

     Casting one last glance over her shoulder, Carson managed to catch Hotch doing the same. Their eyes locked and they shared a final wave—a silent goodnight for an evening neither wanted to end.

── 𐀔 ──

﹙ 𝕸ONDAY ━ 𝕯ECEMBER 12TH, 2016 ﹚

     THE PALE AND DISTANT WINTER SUN FILTERED THROUGH THE FLOOR-TO-CEILING WINDOWS OF CARSON'S OFFICE. The Big Apple was filled with frantic energy as it always was. However, today, it was punctuated by a light snowfall no one saw coming. According to the weather, it wasn't supposed to snow.

     Inside, Carson sat behind her desk, working. Her hair, usually styled to perfection, had a slight dishevelment that spoke of fingers running through it in moments of distraction. She'd been at the office since 7:30 AM, powering through two cases with her usual laser focus. But now, as she shifted tasks, her mind began to drift.

     Her eyes skimmed over the documents for that morning's deposition, but the text blurred. Instead, uninvited and unprompted flashes from Friday night floated to the surface of her consciousness. The image of Hotch's smile... The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed... The brief moment when their hands touched at the ice cream parlor...

     A soft knock at the door shocked Carson back to reality. Kylie's head poked in with a cheeky smile.

     "Ms. Crest? Just a reminder that your deposition is in thirty minutes. The client is on their way up."

     Carson blinked, momentarily disoriented. "Yes. Thank you, Kylie."

     Once the door closed, she took a deep breath to center herself. Get it together, she willed. This lapse in concentration was unlike her, and it was unnerving. Her feelings for Hotch had clearly grown, and they were getting harder to ignore.

     Shaking her head, Carson fixed her hair and grabbed the materials for the deposition. The familiar routine of organizing files and checking her notes helped bring her back into her professional mindset.

     Just as she slipped the last document into her briefcase, her phone buzzed. Carson reached for it without hesitation, assuming it was a work-related message. Her brows rose in surprise when she saw the name on the screen: Ted Branson.

     "Hey Carson, hope you're having a good morning. I was wondering if you'd like to grab coffee later today? No pressure if you're busy."

     A smile, unbidden and irrepressible, spread across Carson's face. Her heart rate picked up and she felt that schoolgirl flutter she kept experiencing. She caught her reflection in the window and saw the flush in her cheeks.

     For a second, she hesitated. Her day was packed with a relentless parade of depositions, court appearances, and client meetings. The responsible part of her brain, the part that'd propelled her to senior partner, urged caution. But another part, long dormant and newly awakened, brought out the "what ifs".

     She glanced at her schedule and scanned for any sliver of free time. There was a 30-minute window from 1:00 to 1:30 PM, wedged between two court cases. It wasn't much, but it was something.

     Carson's fingers hovered over the phone screen as she mentally crafted a response.

     "Coffee sounds great. 1 PM work for you? There's a nice place near the courthouse."

     A wave of relief washed over her after she pressed send.

     The response came almost immediately: "1 PM is perfect. Looking forward to it."

     Taking a deep breath, Carson ignored the bundle of excitement and nerves bubbling in her chest. Standing up, she smoothed out her dress and slipped on her blazer, buttoning the single button. The importance of her job settled back onto her shoulders, and she squared them back.

     She had a deposition to nail, clients to impress, and cases to win. The time for personal happiness had to take a backseat until one.

── 𐀔 ──

     THE HEARTBEAT OF NEW YORK CITY PULSED THROUGH ITS STREETS, A RHYTHM OF HONKING HORNS AND HURRIED FOOTSTEPS MUFFLED BY FALLING SNOW. Amidst the urban symphony, Carson navigated the bustling sidewalk. Her heels left a trail of purposeful clicks in their wake. The Daily Grind, a quaint coffee shop squeezed between towering corporate buildings, beckoned like a heavenly oasis in the concrete Arctic.

     Carson paused outside the café, hesitating. Through the fogged window, Edison bulbs cast a golden hue on those hunched over laptops and steaming mugs. The aroma of freshly ground beans and cinnamon-laced pastries wafted out.

     With an intentional smoothing of her trench coat, Carson steeled herself. The light dusting of snow on her shoulders sparkled under the sun, almost as if the city itself had adorned her for this moment. Her heartbeat quickened, echoing the ticking of her watch—a reminder of the precious minutes ticking away.

     Taking a deep breath that clouded in the frosty air before her, Carson reached for the door. The jingle of bells announced her entrance.

     When she stepped inside, she began scanning the café in search of the one face that could make New York's millions fade into insignificance.

     And there he was.

     Aaron Hotchner rose from a seat in the corner the second he saw her. He was dressed in a manner that tiptoed the line between casual and refined—dark wash jeans paired with a maroon sweater that brought out the warmth in his dark eyes and a winter coat.

     As Carson approached, weaving through the maze of mismatched tables and chairs, Hotch's expression transformed. The smile that spread across his face was like the sun breaking through storm clouds—gradual and impossibly bright. It reached his eyes and crinkled the corners.

     In greeting, his hand naturally found its way to her arm. "Carson," he breathed, happy to see her. "I'm glad you could make it."

     "Ted," Carson replied, cracking a smile at the ill-fitting name. He chuckled, and her stomach fluttered. "It's good to see you."

     Once the words escaped her, the world around them practically faded away. The noises of the coffee shop—the hiss of espresso machines, the chatter of patrons, the clinking of ceramic mugs—became a dull roar.

     Just like last Tuesday, it was Hotch who broke the spell with a small chuckle. He gestured to the counter. "Shall we order?" he asked with a playfulness that was rarely seen in his F.B.I. days.

     Carson blinked, suddenly conscious of the line forming behind them and the barista's expectant gaze. She nodded and followed his lead.

     Stepping up to the counter, the rich smell of coffee enveloped them, providing a comforting backdrop to the anticipation brewing. The barista, a young woman with a joyful smile and a festive reindeer antler headband, greeted them with infectious enthusiasm. "What can I get for you today?" she chirped, pen at the ready.

     Hotch turned to Carson, a brow raised in silent inquiry. "Ladies first," he said, the corner of his mouth quirking in a subtle smirk.

     Jokingly rolling her eyes, Carson cleared her throat and spoke with a hint of challenge. "I'll have a double shot latte with almond milk and a dash of cinnamon, please."

      Hotch's brows arched slightly, an amused smile playing on his lips. "Make that two, actually," he said to the barista, discreetly pulling out his wallet.

     Surprise flashed across Carson's features, her lips parting in an unspoken question. "Since when do you drink your coffee like that?" she retorted, curiosity and mild disbelief coloring her tone.

     The hard lines on his face, often accompanied by his professional demeanor, disappeared and revealed a boyish charm that made her heart skip a beat. "Since a certain lawyer mentioned it a few months ago," he shrugged naturally. "I tried it and haven't looked back."

     A blush crept up Carson's neck and she shifted. She couldn't tell if she liked how forward he was being or if she was too stunned to tell. "I'm flattered," she managed to say, maintaining her composure. "I didn't realize my coffee preferences were so influential."

     "You'd be surprised," Hotch replied, his voice dropping lower and taking on a husky quality that sent a shiver down her spine. "You've influenced more than just my coffee choices, Carson."

     Instantly, her heart stopped, and she froze. Not a single thought or response came to mind as her brain faltered.

     Finally, the barista's cheerful voice cut through the hushed conversation, announcing the total.

     In response, Hotch pulled out a crisp bill from his wallet before Carson could even think to reach for her purse.

     "Ted, you don't have to—" she started, but he cut her off with a shake of his head.

     "I know. It's my pleasure."

     When they moved off to the side to wait for their order, Carson was hyper-aware of Hotch's presence next to her. The coffee shop felt smaller and more intimate. The back of his hand brushed against hers, a seemingly innocent touch that sent a spark of electricity up her arm. She glanced at him, wondering if he felt it too, only to find his eyes already on her.

     "So," Hotch started, cutting through the background noise of the coffee shop like a knife through butter. "How has your day been so far?"

     The question was simple, mundane even, but the way he asked it—with genuine interest, his body angled towards her, giving her his full, undivided attention—made it feel like the most important question in the world.

     Carson let out a small laugh, the sound both melodious and slightly strained. "Busy, as always," she sighed, her eyes darting to the ornate clock on the wall behind the counter. "I have to be back in court in..." she glanced at her watch to double-check the time, "about 20 minutes, actually."

     Hotch's brow furrowed slightly. "I don't want to keep you if you're pressed for time."

     "No, no," she said quickly, surprising herself with her eagerness. "This is nice. I'm glad we could make it work."

     His expression softened, and he nodded in agreement. "Me too," he said, wracking his brain for a way to make the most out of their limited time together. "How about this—why don't we take our coffee to go, and I'll walk you back to the courthouse? That way, you won't have to rush, and we can still talk."

     The thoughtfulness of his suggestion was not lost on her. Carson appreciated his ability to balance consideration with practicality effortlessly. Not many people could, and it stood out to her that he did. "That sounds perfect."

     As if on cue, the barista cheerfully called out their order. Hotch went to retrieve their drinks and swiftly returned. He held out Carson's cup with a tiny, playful bow that made her snort.

     "Your coffee, counselor."

     "Why thank you," Carson gratefully accepted the cup, their fingers brushing.

     Together, they made their way to the door by navigating through the maze of tables and chairs. Hotch's hand found its way to the small of her back, a gentle, guiding pressure that felt protective. The heat from his body seemed to seep through her trench coat and blazer, leaving a burning yet addicting sensation.

     When they reached the door, Hotch stepped forward to open it. The cold air rushed in and Carson involuntarily shivered. Hotch's hand on her back pressed a little firmer as if to shield her from the chill.

     Joining the bustling New York streets, the city's clamor enveloped them. The snowfall had intensified and snowflakes swirled around them. Carson took a sip of her latte, the familiar taste grounding her as they began the walk to the courthouse.

     The city hummed around them with various, jarring noises. Yet somehow, walking beside Hotch, Carson felt a sense of calm she didn't experience often enough. Their shoulders occasionally brushed as they moved through the crowded sidewalk.

     A crosswalk was meters away and the imposing silhouette of the New York County Supreme Court building loomed ahead. Its neo-classical facade stood out among the sleek skyscrapers surrounding it. The sidewalks overflowed with a colorful parade of humanity—lawyers clutching briefcases, wide-eyed tourists snapping photos, and busy New Yorkers expertly navigating the light dusting of snow that continued to fall.

     Carson took a deep breath and a large gulp, not minding the scorching heat she felt in the back of her throat. Then, she turned to Hotch with bright eyes full of nervousness and excitement. "So," she drawled out, her breath visible, "Friday night was fun. I think our kids hit it off pretty well, don't you think?"

     At the mention of their kids, Hotch chuckled. "They did, didn't they?" he asked, glancing at her. "Colby hasn't stopped talking about Parker since. He's already asking when we can all get together again."

     Snorting, Carson broke into a tiny smile. "Parker's the same," she confessed, coming to a stop with him at the crosswalk. "She's been dropping not-so-subtle hints about planning another outing."

     They both chuckled, the sound disappearing in the crowd around them. While they waited for the light to change, Hotch shifted to her, his expression transforming into something more serious.

     "I want to thank you again for inviting us to the game," he said, lowering his latte from his lips. "It meant a lot to Colby and I. It's been a while since we've felt so... welcome somewhere."

     Carson met his gaze with kindness. "I'm glad you could make it," she responded, gently nudging him with her elbow to relieve some of the tension she felt building up. "It was nice having you there. Both of you."

     The light changed, and they crossed the street, their steps falling into sync. As they walked, Hotch's hand brushed against hers for a second time. For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

     Ultimately, Hotch broke the silence. "Carson, there's actually something I want to talk to you about."

     Carson's heart skipped a beat. Knew it, she thought. She took a sip of coffee to steady herself, the rich flavor providing a fleeting distraction. "Oh? What's on your mind?"

     Slowing his pace, Hotch turned to fully face her. The courthouse stood behind him. His eyes searched hers for something crucial. "This last year and a half of getting to know you better and becoming friends, I've come to realize something," he started, praying this went well enough and he hadn't tricked himself into believing she reciprocated the same feelings.

     Carson held her breath, not noticing how a group of tourists squeezed past them on the narrow sidewalk.

     "I have feelings for you, Carson," he said softly, barely audible above the city noise. "Feelings that go beyond our friendship. I've tried to ignore them, to keep them in check, but I can't anymore. I don't want to."

     The world came to a resounding stop. Carson felt a blush crawling up her neck, her heart pounding so loudly she was positive Hotch could hear it. "Aaron, I..." she began shakily, slipping up in using his real name instead of his cover. However, he didn't seem to care.

     "I know it's complicated," he continued, his eyes never leaving hers. "With my situation, your career, our kids. But I can't ignore how I feel anymore. You've become such an important part of my life, and I want to explore what this could be... only if you want to and feel the same."

     Carson exhaled slowly and searched his face for any sign that this wasn't genuine. She didn't find any. A blissful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and a weight lifted off her heart. "I do feel the same way," she admitted, soft but sure. "I've been trying to ignore or balance how I feel, to be rational about it, but..."

     Hotch broke into a wide smile, his eyes crinkling like they always did when he smiled at her. "But it's not working?"

     Laughing, she shook her head. "No. Not at all," she said, brushing her hair away. "Every time I see you, every time we talk, I feel..." she trailed off, losing herself in his gaze.

     Without thinking, she reached out and gently took his free hand in hers. The contrast of his warm skin against her cold fingers sent a shiver through her body, goosebumps rising beneath her clothes.

     For the first time since they'd met, Carson allowed her eyes to drop to Hotch's lips. It was a brief glance, lasting only a fraction of a second, but it felt monumental. Her breath hitched in her throat and she imagined, just for a moment, what it would be like to close the distance between them.

     Hotch noticed. Of course, he did. His years as a profiler had honed his observational skills to a razor's edge. His eyes darkened slightly, and he took a small step closer, the movement almost imperceptible.

     Unfortunately, reality, ever-present, chose that moment to reassert itself. Carson shook her head slightly, regret and practicality present in her expression. She didn't step back, but the moment of possibility passed, leaving a bittersweet ache in its wake.

     "But you're right, it is complicated," she said, her tone tinged with concern. Her thumb unconsciously traced patterns on the back of Hotch's hand, trying to cushion the impact of her words. "Your status, my job, our kids... There's a lot to consider. A lot that could go wrong."

     Nodding, Hotch inhaled sharply. "I know," he said, taking another step forward. "And I've thought about all of that, believe me. I wouldn't be standing here, saying these things, if I hadn't considered every angle, every potential complication." He paused, squeezing her hand tight enough to provide reassurance. "But Carson, I think... I think it's worth exploring, don't you?"

     Carson felt a rush of fervor at the sincerity and hope in his stare. She looked down at their joined hands and back up. "I do," she conceded, returning the gesture. "We'd need to be careful and take things slow, though. There's a lot at stake."

     "Agreed," Hotch said, tilting his head an inch as he continued to gaze at her. "Which is why I was hoping to ask you something."

     With a raised brow, a playful smirk drew at Carson's lips despite the seriousness of the moment. "Oh?"

     "Carson Crest..." He took on a formal tone that was belied by the twinkle in his eye, "Would you do me the honor of going on a date with me? A proper one, at a nice restaurant, without ice cream-covered children?"

     Carson laughed at the silliness of it all. "Ted Branson," she answered, matching his playful formality, "I would love to."

     Their collective laughter faded into chuckles. A gust of wind swirled around them and sent a flurry of snowflakes dancing between their bodies. The delicate crystals caught in Carson's eyelashes, and Hotch found himself captivated by how they sparkled in the sunlight.

     "I should head inside," she said reluctantly yet acutely aware time was running out. Her line of sight flickered to the imposing courthouse steps where a steady stream of lawyers, clients, and court officials were ascending.

     Hotch nodded in agreement. His hand found the small of her back when they started climbing the stairs. When they reached the entrance, they paused. Once Carson crossed it, their time together would be over and neither wanted that.

     Before Hotch could open the door, he felt Carson gently pull him to the side and away from the flow of people entering and exiting the courthouse. They stood close with their bodies angled toward each other, only a foot separating them.

     "Are you sure about this, Aaron?" Carson whispered, wanting to use his real name for this. She searched his face again, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. "With everything going on, your situation... I don't want to put you or Colby at risk. My life, my career... it's all very public."

     Hotch's gaze was steady and his response was firm yet gentle with conviction. "I'm sure, Carson. I wouldn't have chosen to come to New York and shown up Tuesday if I wasn't." He brought a hand up and brushed a snowflake off her cheek. "I've had a lot of time to think about this, about us, before we needed to enter WitSec. It's not a decision I've made lightly. I'm sure."

     Nodding, Carson let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She leaned into his palm and savored the comfort of his touch. "Okay," she murmured, her eyes never leaving his. "Then let's do this. Let's see where this goes."

     At that moment, Hotch's gaze dropped to Carson's lips. Unlike when Carson had glanced at his, it wasn't fleeting. It was a prolonged stare that sent a thrill through her body.

     Carson watched his jaw tighten in a way she recognized—it was tightly held self-control. Swallowing hard, she didn't move or say anything. Part of her was worried if she moved, she'd find out none of this had happened and she was wistfully daydreaming.

     With his hand still on her cheek, he lightly lifted her chin with his thumb and leaned in ever so slightly. Carson's heart was racing and she unconsciously mirrored his actions, leaning in. The rational part of her brain screamed caution, reminding her of where they were. But another part just wanted to kiss him and know what it felt like.

     Turns out, fate had other plans, and time had run out.

     Just then, Carson's phone buzzed insistently in her pocket, the harsh vibration shattering the moment. With a sigh that carried equal parts frustration and resignation, she pulled it out and silenced the alarm. "Five minutes until court," she said regrettably.

     There was a sinking pit in his chest, but Hotch knew there was a date to look forward to where it would only be them. So, he smiled in understanding and dropped his hand from her face. "Go," he said gently. "Win your case. Show them what Carson Crest is made of." His eyes sparkled with admiration and something deeper. "Can I call you tonight?"

     Carson began to walk away, her stare still locked on him and unwilling to break the connection yet. Every step felt like it was pulling her from something essential. "You'd better," she grinned.

     An identical grin appeared on his face. "Good luck in there," he said encouragingly. "Not that you need it."

     "Thank you," she breathed, grabbing one of the door handles. One last nod and smile were exchanged before she slipped inside. Quickly, she flashed her Gallagher & Lang ID to a guard, who let her past security.

     When she reached the left corner to turn down the hall, she couldn't resist one final glance back. Through the distant glass doors, she could see Hotch still standing there. Their eyes met, and even from the distance, she could see his smile.

     With a small wave and a smile that mirrored his, Carson turned, her heels clicking on the polished marble floor. Each step toward her assigned courtroom held a different energy—a lightness that hadn't been there before.

     While she walked past people, her mind tried to process the whirlwind of the past half hour. The unexpected confessions, the charged conversation on the courthouse steps, the almost-kiss that made her pulse quicken—it felt like baby steps into her future. Yet, as she navigated the familiar hallways, Carson also felt a deep sense of contentment with her present.

     Reaching the courtroom doors, Carson took a steadying breath. The scent of old books and polished wood greeted her. Habitually, she straightened her trench coat, smoothed her hair, and adjusted the grip on her briefcase and latte. A confident smile spread across her face—one that spoke of battles won and challenges overcome.

     Carson pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped into the courtroom with her head held high. This felt like more than just another day in court... it felt like the first day of a new chapter in her life.

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╱ 𝕬UTHOR'S 𝕹OTE. . .

⁰⁴ 𝕽𝖀𝕴𝕹. . . RUIN !
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written by CARDIIAC © 2024.
破滅 . ݃♱ .

     AND THAT IS THE END OF RUIN, EVERYONE!!!!!

     wow. wow wow wow.

     this story was my hyperfixation for all of july and i spent the entire month writing this book. that feels like a lifetime ago now.

     this story and its characters mean so so much to me. this story reignited my love for writing (i've lost it again but it'll come back someday lmao). it's tumultuous, terrifying, and hopeful all at once.

     thank you to everyone who gave this book a shot and read all the way through. i hope you enjoyed! i appreciate the love (in the comments and the votes) so much.

     mwah mwah mwah 💋🔪 stay safe

     grayson, xx

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˒⠀𝑹𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹. . . ▬⠀⤸

Thank you all for taking the time out of your day to comment on this story. It means a lot and helps the story be spread to a broader audience &&& allows me to grow as an author. All I ask is that people vote on each chapter, please. As a creator, it takes time to write and develop stories. So please, vote on every chapter. It means a lot more than I could ever express.

Don't forget to vote & comment!

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˒⠀𝑪𝑶𝑷𝒀𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻. . . ▬⠀⤸

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