Three weeks after Elle's departure, her desk still sat empty.
No one wanted to use it. Garcia had placed a small plant there—a fern that looked healthier than the one Elle had killed in her apartment—as a way of claiming the space without erasing the memory. The team moved around it like furniture they'd always had, never acknowledging its presence but never ignoring it either.
I caught myself looking at it during briefings. Expecting to see her there, sharp-eyed and ready, before remembering she was gone.
[TIME ELAPSED: 21 DAYS SINCE DEPARTURE]
[SUBJECT ELLE GREENAWAY: NO CONTACT]
[TEAM COHESION: STABLE BUT DIMINISHED]
[FOCUS: RESTORED TO 60/75]
The cases continued. A serial killer in Portland, caught within forty-eight hours. A missing child in Nebraska, found alive. A spree shooter in Atlanta, stopped before he could claim more victims.
Good work. Important work. The kind that reminded me why I'd come to this world in the first place.
But the team felt incomplete.
Morgan threw himself into cases with a intensity that bordered on reckless. Reid retreated into statistics and books, processing through intellectual distance. Gideon grew more withdrawn, spending hours alone in his office with the door closed.
And I watched all of it, cataloguing patterns, looking for signs of breakdown.
The rumors started on a Tuesday.
Garcia appeared at my desk with coffee and the particular expression she wore when she had gossip too interesting to keep to herself.
"I heard something," she said, settling into Elle's chair—the first time anyone had sat there since the departure. "Through channels."
"What kind of channels?"
"The kind that involve very attractive IT specialists who owe me favors." She leaned closer. "A new agent is being placed in the BAU."
"Placed?"
"Not recruited. Placed. From the State Department, diplomatic security background. Her mother is apparently some kind of ambassador." Garcia's voice dropped conspiratorially. "The interesting part? Hotch didn't request anyone. Neither did Strauss. This is coming from above."
Political appointment. Someone with connections pulling strings to get their daughter—or protégé—into the most prestigious unit in the Bureau.
Except I knew better.
Emily Prentiss. Yale graduate. Interpol experience. One of the best profilers the BAU would ever have. Her arrival wasn't political favoritism—it was destiny disguised as nepotism.
"What's her name?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral.
"Emily Prentiss. I'm pulling her file now." Garcia's fingers twitched toward her phone. "Want me to send you what I find?"
"Please."
She hurried back to her lair, already planning the comprehensive background check she'd run on our incoming colleague.
I sat at my desk and considered the implications.
Emily's arrival meant the team would start healing. Her skills would fill the gap Elle had left. Her perspective would challenge Gideon's increasingly rigid thinking. Her presence would remind everyone that the BAU was bigger than any single agent.
But it also meant complications.
The team would be suspicious of a political appointment. Trust would take time to build. And Emily herself carried secrets—her mother's work, her own past, the reasons she'd really requested this assignment—that would eventually surface.
One problem at a time.
Morgan appeared in the bullpen doorway.
"Hotch wants everyone in the conference room. Now."
We gathered around the familiar table—Morgan, Reid, JJ, Garcia on speakerphone from her office. Gideon arrived last, looking distracted in a way that had become increasingly common.
Something was wrong with Gideon.
I'd noticed it building for weeks—the distant expressions, the long silences, the way he'd received "gifts" from admirers that seemed to unsettle him more than delight. One had included a photograph of his old partner from the Boston bombing case, Sarah. Another had been a single chess piece—a knight, this time, not a wounded king.
Someone was studying Gideon specifically. The Fisher King was dead, but other predators were watching.
[PATTERN RECOGNITION: GIDEON SURVEILLANCE]
[INDICATORS: TARGETED CONTACT, PSYCHOLOGICAL PRESSURE]
[POTENTIAL THREAT: FRANK (CANON) OR UNKNOWN]
[FOCUS: -3]
"I have an announcement," Hotch said, bringing the room to attention. "A new agent is joining the BAU next week. Emily Prentiss, from the State Department's counterterrorism division."
The reaction was immediate.
"We didn't request anyone," Morgan said. His voice carried the particular edge of someone defending territory. "I thought we were handling transitions internally."
"She was assigned." Hotch's tone was careful, measured. "The decision came from above my authority."
"Political?" JJ asked.
"I don't have all the details. What I do know is that Agent Prentiss has impressive credentials. Yale, Interpol, diplomatic security experience. She's qualified for this work."
"Qualified doesn't mean she belongs here," Morgan pressed. "The BAU isn't a stepping stone for someone's career advancement."
"I understand the concern." Hotch met his eyes. "But she's joining us regardless. I expect everyone to give her a fair chance to prove herself."
Silence fell over the table.
Reid was studying his hands, processing. Garcia had gone quiet on the speakerphone—unusual for her. JJ looked thoughtful, already planning how to integrate a new personality into the team dynamics.
And Gideon...
Gideon was staring at something only he could see. Lost in thoughts that had nothing to do with Emily Prentiss or political appointments.
"Jason?" Hotch prompted.
Gideon blinked, returning to the present.
"A new agent. Yes. Fine." He stood abruptly. "I'll be in my office."
He left before anyone could respond.
The meeting dispersed with the particular awkwardness of unfinished business. Morgan cornered Hotch for a private conversation that involved a lot of hand gestures and barely-contained frustration. Garcia retreated to her computers to compile everything she could find about Emily Prentiss.
I went to Gideon's office.
The door was open, but he sat at his desk with his back to it—a departure from his usual habits. Books surrounded him, but none were open. His hands rested on a small wooden box I'd never seen before.
"Gideon?"
He didn't turn.
"The new agent," he said. "Prentiss. You know something about her."
It wasn't a question.
"I know her file. Same as everyone else."
"Your file knowledge always seems to exceed the actual file." He finally turned, those paper-colored eyes finding mine. "But that's not why I'm distracted."
I waited.
"I've been receiving correspondence," Gideon continued. "Fan mail, supposedly. But the contents are... specific. Personal. Things that suggest deeper knowledge than a casual admirer would possess."
"What kind of things?"
"Photographs of old cases. Mentions of people from my past. A chess piece that matched the one Frank used to leave at his crime scenes." His voice was flat, controlled. "Someone is studying me, Agent Mercer. Not the way the Fisher King studied the team—this is more focused. More personal."
Frank.
The name surfaced in my memory like a shark's fin breaking water. Serial killer. Obsessed with Gideon's old case. The "artist" who would eventually drive Gideon from the BAU entirely.
It's starting. The next predator is making contact.
"Have you told Hotch?"
"Not yet. I wanted to be certain before raising alarms." Gideon's eyes narrowed slightly. "You don't seem surprised."
"I'm concerned," I said carefully. "Any targeted contact with a federal agent should be taken seriously."
"That's not what I asked."
"I know."
We stared at each other for a long moment. Gideon seeing more than I wanted him to see. Me trying to decide how much to reveal.
"The new agent arrives next week," Gideon said finally. "Focus on integrating her. I'll handle my own situation."
It was a dismissal.
"If you need anything—"
"I know where to find you."
I left his office with the particular weight of problems I couldn't solve pressing down on my shoulders.
Back at my desk, I pulled up Emily Prentiss's file—the official one, with its impressive credentials and careful omissions.
Yale. Interpol. Diplomatic security. Language skills that would make Reid jealous. A career trajectory that suggested ambition and competence in equal measure.
And underneath it all, the story I knew from another life: a woman who'd spent her whole career trying to prove she belonged, who'd made decisions that would eventually haunt her, who would become one of the best profilers the BAU had ever seen.
Give her a fair chance. That's all Hotch asked.
And maybe that's all she needs.
I closed the file and looked across the bullpen at Elle's empty desk. The plant Garcia had placed there was thriving, green leaves catching the afternoon light.
Some vacuums filled naturally. Others took longer.
But the team would heal. Emily would prove herself. And somewhere in the distance, Frank was watching Gideon, preparing for confrontations that would reshape everything.
[PHASE 2 STATUS: STABLE]
[DREAD METER: 25/100]
[UPCOMING EVENTS: EMILY PRENTISS ARRIVAL, FRANK SITUATION DEVELOPING]
[RECOMMENDATION: MAINTAIN VIGILANCE]
The sun was setting over Quantico, painting the windows orange and gold.
Tomorrow, work would continue. Cases would come. The team would adapt.
And I would be here—watching, waiting, preparing for whatever came next.
Because some things couldn't be predicted.
But they could be faced.
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