"A knife from a stranger cuts deep. But one from family? That never stops bleeding." — Jason Cole
Quantico, Virginia – BAU Headquarters – 8:13 AM
Tension clung to the air like gunpowder.
Jason sat alone at his desk, eyes fixed on the crime scene photo of Rebecca Langley's supposed death—burned remains, ID tags, and a falsified cause of death signed by Lieutenant Colonel Rourke. He'd seen bodies burned to mask identities before. This was a classic ghost tactic.
Ash had gone dark. But not silent.
She was watching.
Hotch entered the bullpen with a sealed envelope. "Jason. You need to see this."
Jason opened it, scanned the letter. His eyes narrowed.
It was a folded photo of the BAU team—himself, Morgan, Reid, Elle, JJ, Gideon. Drawn over in red ink. Everyone's eyes crossed out except one.
Reid.
Below it, a note, typed.
Let's see how well the boy genius functions with a fractured mind.
You taught me everything, Jason. Now I'll return the favor.
—Ash
Jason stood. "She's not going after me. Not yet. She's going after Reid."
Outside Reid's Apartment – That Night
Jason and Morgan parked across the street in an unmarked SUV. Reid was inside—safe, for now—but Ash wasn't playing by rules. She was inside already, Jason was certain of it.
"She knows his schedule," Jason said. "His habits. What time he reads. When he leaves the kettle on."
Morgan cracked his knuckles. "Then we stay locked in."
Jason's eyes scanned the street, his Delta instincts in full control.
Then he saw it.
A glint.
Third floor window—angle wrong for a streetlight.
He opened the car door fast. "Move."
They rushed inside.
Reid's Apartment – Two Minutes Later
Jason burst through the door first, weapon raised.
Reid looked up from his book, startled. "What—?"
Jason ignored him and turned straight toward the kitchen—where the kettle hissed low. He ripped it off the burner and opened the lid.
A small vial floated inside.
"Don't move," Jason said. "She poisoned the steam."
Morgan stepped in behind him, eyes wide. "That would've gone airborne. Microdose exposure—paralytic, maybe?"
Jason nodded. "She was testing him. Not killing him. She wants to play with us."
Reid stood, shaken. "She was here?"
Jason turned to him, voice low but steady. "She never left."
Quantico – War Room – The Next Morning
"Rebecca Langley is targeting us one by one," Jason briefed the team. "Not with bombs. Not with knives. With psychological warfare. She's using our patterns—our habits—to isolate, undermine, and destabilize."
Hotch leaned over the table. "So what's her goal?"
Jason looked around the room.
"You. Me. All of us. She wants to break this unit. Not with death, but with doubt. You'll start second-guessing every decision. Every action. Every partner."
Garcia frowned. "But why? Why not just come at us directly?"
"Because she doesn't need to," Gideon answered softly. "She thinks if she can fracture our trust, we'll destroy ourselves."
Morgan glanced at Jason. "So what do we do?"
Jason stepped forward, fire returning to his voice.
"We don't fracture. We tighten up. We go full lockdown. Check-ins every hour. Private access only. And we hit back."
Hotch nodded. "We hunt her."
Elsewhere – Rebecca's Safehouse
Ash stood in front of a whiteboard filled with strings, pictures, and notes—BAU profiles, travel patterns, habits. She crossed off "REID" and circled "GARCIA."
She turned toward a voice recorder.
"I've shown them weakness," she whispered. "Next, I'll show them loss."
Then she picked up a cellphone.
Dialed.
Garcia's phone buzzed at her desk. She picked it up and smiled. "Technical division, mistress of machines speaking—"
The voice on the line chilled her blood.
"Hi, Penelope. I hope you're ready for the truth."
Click.
Then her monitors all went black—replaced with one message.
He's not who he says he is.
Look deeper, sugar skull.
Garcia sat frozen.
And for the first time since she joined the BAU, she wasn't sure she could trust Jason Cole.