CHORUS
You are a woman marked for sorrow.
ELEKTRA
Yes, I know sorrow. Know it far too well.
My life is a tunnel choked by the
sweepings of dread.
⟿ criminal minds
⟿ aaron hotchner
...
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: INSANE MAN GETS A PERSPECTIVE BY REMINDING HIMSELF THAT HE IS GOD
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BEATRICE STOOD IN the dimly lit room, the weight of the documents in her hands feeling heavier with each passing second. The pages were filled with accusations, details she already knew, but seeing them laid out in black and white made it real. Tangible. She set the papers down carefully, as though handling something toxic. Removing her glasses, she rubbed her eyes, trying to push away the exhaustion that clung to her like a second skin. She didn't need them anymore. She didn't have to pretend anymore.
Her voice came out calm, too calm, considering the storm brewing inside her. "Where did you get this?"
Penelope hesitated, her eyes flitting between her and Morgan. She opened her mouth, then faltered, finally speaking, “It was emailed to me. I’m sorry, Beatrice. I wanted to bring it to you first, but. . . Morgan saw it, and—”
Beatrice felt a surge of frustration, hot and sharp. Of course, Morgan would get involved before she had a chance to fully process. “Did you trace the IP address?” she asked, her tone still even, despite the growing knot in her chest.
Penelope nodded, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her blouse. “Yes, but. . . it’s complicated. It was sent from a location that’s not exactly. . .. safe. I could try to backtrace it, but I’d need to go off the grid. Completely.” Her voice trembled, then firmed as she continued, “It’s the dark web, Bea. Whoever sent this has serious resources—like, government-level firewalls. If I can dig into the financial side, maybe I can—”
Morgan cut her off, his voice a low growl of frustration. “No, Garcia. Not yet. I want to know something first.”
She felt his eyes on her, the intensity of his gaze drilling into her. She knew what was coming.
Her colleague folded his arms across his chest, his muscles tensing. “Beatrice,” he began, his voice rough, barely holding back the edge of betrayal. “Why didn’t you tell us? About him? About all of this?”
Before Beatrice could find the words, the door creaked open, and a familiar figure strode into the room. Sebastian Sterling, her uncle, was as imposing as ever, dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, his presence commanding attention. The room shifted as he walked in, his steps measured, the air growing tenser with each stride. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his gaze locking onto Morgan with a cold, unyielding intensity.
“If you’re looking for someone to blame, Agent,” Sebastian’s voice was calm but edged with steel, “then blame me. I ordered her not to tell you.”
“I—”
“Son, don’t,” Sebastian cut him off with a dismissive wave, his eyes never leaving Morgan. There was no room for formality here. He wasn’t speaking as an official; he was speaking as a man protecting his own niece. “I’m here to clear this up before you jump to any more conclusions. Let me explain Beatrice’s role in Operation Blackbird.”
