Clara Analise Johnson a 15 year old trained assassin is placed with the FBI's BAU team to use her spy skills for good. All she wants to do is make up for all the pain she has caused while keeping her secret from the team.
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Clara moved swiftly through a shadowed alley, her focus sharp as she followed a lead on her latest target. The air was thick with the scent of rain and concrete, and her footsteps echoed lightly against the wet ground. She'd been tracking this man for days, following every breadcrumb of information that led her deeper into the underworld. But something felt off tonight. The silence wasn't right. It was too still.
She paused for a moment, looking around, her instincts flaring. Her breath came in slow, controlled inhales as she scanned the alley. There was no sign of him, yet Clara knew she wasn't alone.
Suddenly, a figure appeared from behind, and before Clara could react, a sharp pain hit the back of her neck—a jolt from a stun gun. Her vision blurred, knees buckling as she crumpled to the ground, the world spinning around her. Her hand shot out, trying to grab her phone, but a heavy boot pinned her wrist down.
"Got you," a voice sneered above her.
Clara fought against the haze clouding her mind, her body struggling to respond. She tried to scream, but the world went dark before the sound could escape her throat. The last thing she saw was the silhouette of a man, towering over her as everything faded to black.
The bullpen was unusually quiet. Weeks had passed since Clara had disappeared, running away from the BAU in a desperate attempt to protect her team from the threats she believed would follow her. Hotch had grown more tense with each passing day, constantly checking for any sign of her, and the rest of the team was feeling the weight of her absence. They hadn't heard from her since she left, and it was driving them mad.
JJ sat at her desk, scrolling through her inbox when her screen blinked with a new email notification. The subject line caught her attention immediately: "Missing Agent: Clara".
She opened it, her breath hitching in her throat. There, attached to the email, was a single photo.
"Hotch," JJ called out, her voice tight, eyes wide with shock. The whole team turned to look at her, and within seconds, they were all crowding around her desk.
"What is it?" Morgan asked, his voice low with anticipation.
JJ clicked on the attachment, and the image expanded on her screen. Clara, bruised and bound, her head hanging low, unconscious in a dark, grim room. A wave of dread washed over the team.
"Clara..." Reid whispered, his face pale as he looked at the screen in horror.
"Where did this come from?" Hotch demanded, his voice barely masking the anxiety clawing at him.
Morgan slammed a fist on the desk. "She's been gone for weeks. How could this happen?"
"She ran to protect us," Emily said, her voice tight with both anger and sadness. "And now she's the one in danger."
Hotch, still staring at the image, could feel the weight of guilt pressing down on him. He had tried everything to track her down, to find her, but Clara had been too skilled, too determined to stay hidden. And now... this.
"We need to figure out where she is. Garcia," Hotch said, turning toward the tech analyst, "I need you to find out anything you can from that photo."
Garcia, already at her station, had tears brimming in her eyes, but she nodded fiercely. "I'll find her. I swear, I'll find her."
Hotch clenched his jaw as the rest of the team prepared to act. Clara had sacrificed everything to protect them. Now it was their turn to bring her home—no matter the cost.
Clara slowly stirred, her body aching as she regained consciousness. Her wrists burned from the tight restraints, and her head throbbed from the blow that had knocked her out. As her vision cleared, she took in the dim, cold room around her. Bare walls, concrete floors. No windows. Just a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to move, testing the bonds that held her wrists behind her. Whoever had taken her knew exactly what they were doing—she couldn't slip out of these restraints easily. Her mind raced, trying to remember everything from the alleyway. She'd been close. So close to tracking him down. And then... nothing.
She could feel the chill of fear creeping up her spine, but she pushed it down, forcing herself to focus. The team. They'd find her. She had to stay calm, stay alert.
A door creaked open, and Clara's heart skipped a beat. A figure stepped into the room—a tall, shadowy man whose face she couldn't make out in the dim light.
"You didn't think you could run forever, did you, Clara?" the man said, his voice cold and familiar.
Clara's blood ran cold as she recognized the voice. It was him.
The air was thick with tension, the room buzzing with barely contained anxiety. Garcia's fingers flew over her keyboard as she zoomed in on every inch of the image, searching for anything that could help locate Clara. The team stood around her, waiting, knowing that every second counted.
Hotch paced behind Garcia, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, eyes dark with worry. The guilt gnawed at him—Clara had run away to protect them, and now she was in the hands of someone dangerous. He should have seen this coming. He should have found her before it came to this.
"Anything?" Hotch asked, his voice a low rumble as he forced himself to stop pacing.
Garcia didn't look up from the screen. "There's nothing immediately obvious, but I'm running the image through every possible filter, checking for location clues. This isn't going to be easy—whoever sent this is a pro. I can feel it."
Morgan clenched his jaw, his frustration barely held in check. "She's been gone too long, Hotch. We have to get ahead of this. She ran because she thought she was protecting us, but now—"
"She's in more danger than ever," Emily finished for him, her eyes flicking back to the screen, her heart sinking at the sight of Clara.
Reid's mind raced as he studied the photo. "Look at her posture. She's slumped but her body doesn't show recent trauma—no fresh bruises, no signs of immediate injury beyond the initial struggle. Whoever has her... they might not be planning to kill her yet. They're playing a game."
"A game we need to stop," Hotch said, his voice hard with determination. "Garcia, keep working on the location. We need to figure out what they want."
"They'll contact us again," Rossi said grimly, crossing his arms. "Whoever this is—they're not done with us. Sending that picture? It's just the beginning."
The room fell into a heavy silence as everyone considered his words. Hotch's mind was already moving ten steps ahead, planning the next move, figuring out how to save Clara before it was too late.
