"Sometimes the greatest threat isn't the killer outside the door—it's the shadow you left inside yourself." —Aaron Hotchner
Quantico, Virginia – BAU Headquarters – 5:14 PM
The bullpen was quiet. Not the usual "paperwork and caffeine" quiet. This was heavy. Every agent moved slower, side-eyed each other a little longer.
JJ was in protective custody now—per Director's orders. She wasn't under arrest, but she wasn't cleared either. The agency wanted answers. And Jason Cole? He was gone.
"Went ghost," Morgan said, pacing Hotch's office. "No tracker, no burner, not even a glimmer of digital footprint. You know how hard it is to disappear in this city?"
Hotch stared at the board—Ash's victims, her messages, her patterns. "Jason trained the people who teach people to disappear."
Reid leaned against the doorframe. "Then either he's going after her… or he's running."
Gideon, quiet for most of the morning, finally spoke. "He's not running. He's reloading."
Location Unknown – 3 Hours Earlier
Jason sat in a rusted truck in the middle of nowhere—rain peppering the windshield, the sky burning gray with the weight of a storm.
He stared at a phone, preloaded with only two numbers.
The first was Hotch.
He didn't call it.
The second?
He dialed.
The man who answered sounded like smoke and whiskey.
"You don't exist, Cole."
Jason's voice was low. "Neither do you. I need the Orpheus drop point."
A pause.
"You're not authorized—"
"I was the authorization. Don't make me ask again."
Another pause. Then coordinates.
Jason hung up.
In the side mirror, he caught his reflection.
Blood in his eyes. Fire in his jaw.
But somewhere behind it…
Fear.
Not for himself.
For what he might become.
Safehouse Echo – 11:32 PM
Ash knelt in front of a locked chest, opening it carefully. Inside was a photo—Jason, twenty years old, a knife in one hand and a mission map in the other. A younger Ash stood behind him in the background, blurred but very real.
She traced the edge of his face. Then smiled.
"I watched you become their weapon," she whispered. "Now I'll watch them realize they never owned you at all."
She turned to the monitors.
JJ was on-screen—still in protective custody, watching old footage of herself on the Hoover steps, unable to tell if the words she said were hers or not.
Ash tapped her finger against the glass.
"Time to break the heart completely."
Quantico – JJ's Holding Room – The Next Morning
JJ sat in the sterile white space, knees pulled to her chest, the weight of everything pressing down like concrete.
Hotch entered, file in hand. "We're not treating this like an internal betrayal, JJ. We know what Ash did. But the Bureau's making noise."
JJ looked up, eyes rimmed red. "And Jason?"
Hotch shook his head. "He's alone. Just like Ash wants."
She leaned forward. "No… no, that's how she wins. She isolates. She corrupts. She manipulates. She wants us to fear each other."
"She's succeeding."
JJ whispered, "Then stop her. Don't chase Jason. Find her."
Northern Virginia – 12:48 PM
Jason arrived at an abandoned farmhouse. Wind tore across the fields like something hunted. He walked through the shattered doorway, every movement precise, rehearsed.
Inside the cellar: weapons cache. Old files. Trained surveillance points. A staging ground.
It was hers.
He found a journal. Ash's.
He flipped through it.
Pages filled with timelines, voices, reconstructed memories—many of his. Conversations only they shared. A warped record of admiration, hatred, obsession.
Then he saw it.
A photo of the BAU. Taped, slashed, and reassembled. One word beneath it, scrawled in crimson ink.
Family.
Jason clenched the journal.
Then heard the creak behind him.
"Did you miss me?"
He turned—and there she was.
Ash.
Smiling like a blade.