Are You Profiling Me?

-30-

Two months later and you're in Aaron's apartment.

The late afternoon light slants through the windows, casting long, golden shadows across the quiet living room. Jack is on the floor in front of the TV, absorbed in his video game, while you move around the kitchen, assembling a snack for him. Everything is calm, almost too calm, with the ticking of the clock on the wall as the only sound.

You glance over at the time. It's almost time for Hotch to be back from his meeting. You're just starting to relax into the routine, feeling like the day is going smoothly. But then Jack speaks, his voice small, slightly nervous.

"Danielle, I keep seeing this red dot."

Your hand falters as you pull a sandwich from the plate, your heart lurching. You turn your head slowly, your eyes narrowing as you try to focus on Jack, who's sitting cross-legged on the floor, his gaze fixed on the TV screen. He doesn't look up at you, just stares, his words carrying an undertone of something more serious.

"What do you mean, a red dot?" you ask, your voice low and steady, though your pulse has quickened. You try to keep your tone casual, but a gnawing unease begins to spread through your stomach.

Jack pauses his game, looking up at you now, his expression confused. "Like... this red dot, right here. It's just there. And it won't go away."

You freeze.

Your mind flickers with the sudden realization of what he might be talking about. You've trained for this. You've been in enough dangerous situations to know what a red dot means, especially in a place like this—a quiet suburb with no apparent threats.

A sniper's laser sight.

Your blood runs cold.

You glance toward the window, your eyes darting around the room. The world outside is calm, too calm. The trees outside are swaying in the breeze, the fading sunlight playing tricks on your eyes. The living room, cozy and safe just moments ago, suddenly feels too exposed, too vulnerable.

"Jack, stay here," you say, your voice sharp with authority, though you're keeping yourself in check for his sake.

You move toward the window, trying to locate the source of the red dot. You don't see anything out of place, no movement, no flash of metal. Your breath quickens, and you start to panic, your mind racing through the worst possibilities.

There's nothing for a few seconds, but then—you spot it.

The faint glimmer of a red dot in the corner of the window, far off, across the street. A small, focused beam aimed directly at you and Jack.

You swallow hard. Your instincts scream at you to move, to protect him.

"Jack," you say, your voice shaking slightly now, "Get to the back of the house. Go now."

Jack looks up at you, his face pale. "What's wrong?"

"Just go, now." You don't have time to explain. You pull him up gently but firmly, ushering him toward the back of the house, all while keeping an eye on the window. You move quickly, glancing out again as you head toward the hallway. The red dot is still there, unyielding.

As you duck into the back room, your breath catches in your throat.

You need to get somewhere safe. The house is too exposed, the windows too wide open. You usher Jack into the kitchen, where there's no clear line of sight from the outside, and pull the blinds down, one by one, covering every possible window.

Your heart races, adrenaline coursing through your veins as the reality of the situation sinks in. This isn't a game anymore. This is real.

You grab your phone and dial Hotch's number, your fingers trembling as you wait for the call to connect.