St. Louis, Missouri – BAU Temporary Field Office – 6:17 AM
The scent of stale coffee and anxious tension filled the room like static in the air. Jason stood at the whiteboard, arms crossed, eyes tracking the photos of Dana Keller and Brianna Jameson. Both posed. Both mutilated. Both left seen, but not watching. He tapped his fingers once against his bicep — his tell when he was running simulations in his mind.
"Victim three is already chosen," he said flatly.
Reid, sitting across from him with a file half-open, nodded. "There's a 92% chance he kills in triads based on the behavioral symmetry and timing. He's following a compulsion curve—first kill to test, second to reinforce, third for climax."
Hotch, standing beside the map, added, "Both prior abductions occurred on the weekend. Same window: early morning, low traffic, isolated locations."
Jason stepped forward. "Then today's the day. And we're hours behind."
Morgan entered, jacket half on, a little sweat still on his brow. "Talked to locals again—nothing suspicious in either neighborhood. But I got our hands on security cam footage from a gas station four blocks from victim two."
He slid a USB across the table.
"Midnight before the kill, this guy stops to pump gas. Wearing a utility uniform. Looks like a nobody. But he's not."
Garcia's voice chimed in through the video call, her background filled with blinking LEDs and toy figurines. "Correction: He's not just a nobody — he's a ghost with bad taste in cologne. I did a deep facial scan against DMV, labor union IDs, and even sanitation workers. Found a hit."
She typed furiously, and a blurry image and driver's license popped onto the screen.
"Name's Allen Breyer. Thirty-nine. Maintenance worker for a small apartment complex ten miles from victim one. He hasn't clocked in for four days. And guess what? A tenant there filed a noise complaint the night after Brianna Jameson went missing."
Jason's eyes sharpened. "He's already abducted number three."
Garcia looked uneasy. "I was afraid you'd say that."
Abandoned Building – East St. Louis – 7:52 AM
Jason and Hotch moved in quietly, backed by Morgan and two local officers. Reid and Gideon waited near the perimeter, scanning blueprints of the building. The signal from Breyer's burner phone had pinged here an hour ago.
Jason led the way, flashlight off, movement calculated.
"Rooms are too symmetrical," he murmured. "He picked this place for a reason. Control. One entry. Multiple doors. Confusion zone."
Hotch tapped his earpiece. "Reid, what's the most likely holding location?"
Reid's voice crackled back, "Third floor. Back right room. Closest to water access. Windows boarded. Privacy optimized."
Jason was already climbing the stairs.
Morgan caught up beside him. "You sure about this?"
Jason didn't look over. "This guy's a pattern junkie. And I've hunted his type before. Every second we hesitate, someone dies."
Third Floor – Room 312
The door creaked open.
The room smelled of mildew and antiseptic. Jason stepped in first, weapon raised. The light revealed what looked like a makeshift performance stage: a chair in the center, fabric draped behind it like theater curtains, and Christine Chen—alive, but unconscious—bound to the chair.
Beside her stood Allen Breyer. Knife in hand. Shaking.
"I told them I wasn't invisible," he rasped, not looking at them. "But they never saw me."
Morgan moved right. "Allen, put the knife down."
Jason stayed still, locking eyes with the man. "You weren't invisible. Not to me."
Breyer turned slowly. "You're different. You see things, don't you? You know what it's like… being discarded."
Jason took a slow step forward, voice low and steady.
"I know what it's like to become a weapon because the world didn't want to understand you. But you're not a weapon now. You're just a man. With a choice."
Breyer's hand twitched.
Jason lowered his weapon.
"She's not part of this story, Allen. Let her go."
Breyer hesitated… then dropped the knife.
Morgan rushed in and cuffed him, breathing hard.
Jason exhaled, checked Christine's pulse. "She's alive."
Later That Day – Outside the Crime Scene
The sky was gray and heavy, like it was waiting for permission to break.
Morgan stood beside Jason as they watched Christine being loaded into an ambulance.
"Hell of a move in there," Morgan said, quieter now. "You lowered your weapon first."
Jason nodded once. "He wanted to be seen. If I raised my gun, he'd think I saw a monster."
Morgan let that sit a moment. Then glanced sideways. "You keep pulling moves like that, and I might start liking you."
Jason gave a small smirk. "Don't rush it. I'm still figuring out your pattern."
Quantico – BAU Offices – Next Morning
Garcia waited in the breakroom, eyes gleaming behind glittery glasses. As Jason entered, she shoved a cup of black coffee into his hands.
"You don't talk much," she said.
"I talk when it matters."
She smiled. "I did a little more digging. Not just your military file. Before that."
Jason raised an eyebrow.
"You were declared dead once," Garcia said quietly. "At age thirteen. For six minutes. Car crash. Parents didn't make it."
Jason didn't speak, but his expression changed—just slightly.
"I know pain when I see it," Garcia said. "You carry yours like armor. That's not a weakness. But don't forget—armor can keep the good out, too."
Jason studied her a moment.
Then he took a sip of the coffee.
"Thanks, Penelope."
She blinked. "You used my first name?"
He walked out, not smiling, but the hint of it lingered behind him.
Garcia sighed, then turned back to her terminal.
"Dangerous, broken, brilliant, mysterious… and polite," she muttered. "I'm in trouble."