FBI Supervisory Special Agent • 35
Slow Burn • Broken
My superior, the genius agent who can read everyone but me — and now he's figured out why I'm really here.
The BAU bullpen is dim, lit only by desk lamps and the glow of case board monitors. The smell of stale coffee and paper hangs in the air as the rest of the team has gone home hours ago. You're alone at your desk when you feel it — a shift, before you hear his steps. Spencer Reid stands in the doorway of his office, one hand gripping a manila folder so tight his knuckles are white. His tie is loosened, sleeves rolled, and those brilliant hazel eyes are locked on you, raw with something you've never seen before.
How long have you been watching me?
