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 clenched her jaw, refusing to show fear. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. The man stepped closer, his face still cast in shadow, but she could feel his eyes studying her, analysing every reaction. She knew she couldn't show weakness; it was all he wanted.
"Running?" Clara's voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse from the cold and the hours of silence. "I've done nothing but fight."
The man chuckled, a dark, chilling sound that echoed off the walls. "You call it fighting. I call it delaying the inevitable. We both know you can't hide forever, Clara."
Clara's head ached as she blinked against the dim, flickering bulb that barely lit the room. The air was damp and cold, pressing in on her from all sides, and the silence was thick, stretching her nerves thin. She tried to shift her hands, bound tightly behind her back, the cords biting into her wrists. Her arms had gone numb hours ago, but she kept twisting, searching for any weakness, any chance to break free.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway, slow and deliberate. Her captor—the man she'd been tracking for weeks—entered, his face obscured in shadow but his smirk visible. He shut the door behind him, sealing them in.
"Clara," he drawled, his tone almost conversational. "The BAU must be so disappointed. After everything they've done for you, and you just... ran away."
Clara clenched her jaw, keeping her gaze steady. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a response.
He took a step closer, crouching down to meet her eyes. "You know, I bet they won't even bother coming for you. People are quick to forget, especially someone like you. Do you think they care?"
Clara's heart pounded, but she forced herself to stay calm. "They'll come," she replied quietly, a certainty in her voice that she hoped hid her fear. "And when they do, you're done."
The man laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "Brave words, but I don't think you understand." He leaned in close, the menace in his voice chilling. "You're alone now, Clara. No one's coming."
She felt a flicker of doubt creep in, but she pushed it down, holding onto the thought of her team, the people who had become like family. She pictured each of them—Hotch's steady guidance, JJ's kindness, Morgan's strength. They wouldn't stop until they found her.
He moved away, seeming almost bored as he circled the small room. "They say we're shaped by our choices, don't they? Funny, given how predictable you are. Running away, trying to be the hero." He paused, glancing back at her. "It's always been your weakness."
Clara gritted her teeth, refusing to rise to his taunts. She knew he was trying to break her down, to make her question everything, but she held firm. She'd come too far to let him see her fear.
As he turned to leave, he glanced over his shoulder, a small, chilling smile crossing his face. "Think about it, Clara. Because they're certainly not thinking about you."
The door slammed shut, and the darkness closed in again. Clara took a deep, shaking breath, centering herself, focusing on the faces of her team. She knew they were out there, searching, and that thought was her lifeline.
Garcia's face lit up as she finally picked up a small detail in the photo—a faint logo on the concrete wall behind Clara. She zoomed in, enhancing the image pixel by pixel. It was barely visible, but it was enough to identify it as a regional facility tag.
"Hotch, I've got something," Garcia said, breathless with urgency. "That logo—it's from an abandoned storage facility. Used to belong to a company that shut down years ago. I can track it to within a few blocks."
"Send the address," Hotch ordered, his voice sharp with relief. The team immediately sprang into action, grabbing their gear, slipping on their vests. They didn't need to say a word; each of them knew what was at stake.
The team arrived at the old facility, moving quietly but swiftly. Hotch and Morgan took the lead, Emily and Rossi covering the sides as they split up to enter through different doors. The whole place was silent, eerie, every shadow a possible threat.
Morgan motioned to Hotch, and they signaled the rest of the team to move in. They swept through the rooms one by one, their footsteps muffled, each of them braced for what they might find.
The team moved in cautiously, weapons drawn, following the faint noises that led them deeper into the abandoned building. Every instinct told them Clara was close, but the silence and darkness stretched, heightening their tension.
Suddenly, Morgan held up a fist, signaling the team to stop. He nodded towards a dim light spilling through a crack in a door up ahead. The faint silhouette of two figures shifted inside. Hotch motioned for everyone to fan out, approaching slowly.
Hotch pushed the door open just enough to take in the sight. Clara was on her knees, hands tied behind her back, her captor gripping her shoulder tightly. But worse, a gun pressed hard against her temple.
Hotch's heart dropped, and his face hardened. He knew this man was taunting them, daring them to make a move. The unsub—a tall, wiry man with cold eyes—gave a twisted smile as his gaze fell on Hotch and the team assembling in the doorway.
"Well, well," he sneered, tightening his grip on Clara. "Looks like I've got your attention now."
Clara's eyes met Hotch's. There was fear there, but also a determined, silent plea: don't give in.
Hotch kept his voice steady, calm. "Let her go. You've done what you set out to do. It's over now."
The man scoffed, pressing the gun harder against Clara's head, making her wince. "Over? This is just getting started. Clara and I have... history. I'm just giving her a proper goodbye."
The team shifted, each agent ready to act, but with Clara in immediate danger, any sudden movement could end in disaster.
"Listen to me," Hotch continued, his voice unshakable. "You don't want this to end here. You want a way out, and this isn't it."
The man hesitated just slightly, eyes flicking between Hotch and the rest of the team. Clara felt his grip loosen just enough for her to lean forward, shifting her balance.
Sensing her move, Morgan and Rossi took quick action, positioning themselves to distract the unsub. In one swift motion, Clara twisted to the side, breaking his hold, and dropped low to the ground. The man swung the gun wildly, but Morgan's shot rang out, aimed to disarm rather than kill. The weapon flew from the unsub's hand, clattering across the floor as he staggered backward.
Emily and Rossi were on him instantly, securing him while Morgan rushed to Clara, pulling her to her feet.
"You okay?" he asked, his hand steady on her shoulder.
Clara nodded, shaken but steady, looking up at the team with gratitude. She met Hotch's gaze across the room, seeing the relief and pride in his eyes.
"It's over now," he said quietly, a reassurance just for her. And this time, she believed it.
