ABLOCATE ▇▇▇▇ VOLUME TWO
━━ ❛ 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍 ❜

chapter no. 060!

❪ 𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙻𝚄𝙳𝙴𝚂   𝙰   𝙻𝙾𝚃   𝙾𝙵
𝙴𝚇𝙿𝙻𝙸𝙲𝙸𝚃 𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙰𝙶𝙴. ❫

❪ 𝚃𝚆  :  𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙿𝙷𝙸𝙲 𝚅𝙸𝙾𝙻𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴, 𝙶𝙾-
𝚁𝙴, 𝚂𝙴𝚇𝚄𝙰𝙻 𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙰𝚄𝙻𝚃, 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙶-
𝚄𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽, 𝙼𝚄𝚁𝙳𝙴𝚁, & 𝚆𝙴𝙰𝙿𝙾𝙽𝚂.
𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚄𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝚃𝙾  𝚁𝙰𝙿𝙴 & 𝙶𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙼-
𝙸𝙽𝙶.       𝙳𝙴𝙿𝙸𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙳
& 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷,       𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝙾𝙵
𝚂𝙰   𝙰𝙽𝙳   𝚂𝚄𝙱𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴  𝙰𝙱𝚄𝚂𝙴. ❫

❝ HAVEN'T I GIVEN ENOUGH?! ❞
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﹙ MARCH 5TH, 2018 ﹚

     "AS ONE WHO IN HIS JOURNEY BATES AT NOONE, THOUGH BENT ON SPEED, SO HEER THE ARCHANGEL PAUS'D BETWIXT THE WORLD DESTROY'D AND WORLD RESTOR'D, IF ADAM AUGHT PERHAPS MIGHT INTERPOSE; THEN WITH TRANSITION SWEET NEW SPEECH RESUMES." Those are the first five lines of Book 12, the final book of Paradise Lost, and the first thing that came to Cara's mind as she jerked the stolen SUV to the right. It was all she could think about.

     In the final book of Paradise Lost, the angel Michael continues to relay to Adam biblical history and what is to come. By the end, Adam is greatly satisfied and comforted by the revelations and promises Michael provides him. Eventually, the time comes for Adam and Eve to leave Paradise. Led by Michael, Adam and Eve are woefully guided out of Paradise, hand in hand, into a new world.

     However, it isn't the ultimate ending and its minuscule details that cause Cara to reflect on the first lines of Book 12 and its connection to her. It's not how John Milton highlights that virtue and good always win over evil and sin while also implying Milton believes Adam and Eve's new knowledge and hope are justification for God's ways. Rather, it's the beginning of the final book that caused Cara to reflect on her present circumstances.

     The opening five lines illustrate that the story has come to a point where the past and the past world have been destroyed. Now, a new world is beginning. It felt fitting for where tonight would inevitably end.

     Cara's past and past world with Michael Le, the Founding Fathers, and the Red Scorpions were going to be destroyed. After tonight, a new life and world would be created.

     The SUV turned left at a stop sign without waiting to check if the intersection was clear. It was late enough at night that hardly anyone was out. On top of that, Cara knew most of the Vancouver PD was at the precinct and not patrolling the city.

     The street sign for Pagey Avenue was up ahead, and Cara pressed harder on the accelerator.

     Castaway's Mansion was across the road from a prestigious neighborhood and barricaded behind a black steel fence. Entering the property was tricky, as the police recently chained the fence, closed all potential entrances, and changed the gate's passcode. The mansion had become government property over the last year, which meant it would be difficult for Cara to get inside.

     Difficult but not impossible.

     Twelve seconds passed before the mansion came into view.

     Oh.

     Much to Cara's surprise, the main entrance to Castaway's Mansion was wide open. The chain on the fence had been snapped, and the remaining pieces hung limply on each door. The main driveway was clear and seemingly awaiting someone's arrival— her arrival.

     She was correct. This was the meeting spot.

     Of course, there was a chance she was incorrect. Of course, it could be a coincidence, but Cara didn't believe in coincidences. When something concerned Michael Le, it was never a coincidence.

     Cara spun the steering wheel to the left, and the car flew up the driveway.

     It was a long, windy path that stretched for about a third of a mile up a hill. The scenery consisted of overgrown, dark green grass that appeared almost black at night. There were no trees nearby, for they were all located behind the mansion and in the expansive backyard.

     After twenty-eight seconds, the front of the house came into view. In front of the house was a small roundabout with a massive marble water fountain in the middle. It'd been cut off for years, and the statue of a horse in the center was broken. All that remained of the sculpture was the horse's hooves. The rest was in dozens of pieces and lying in the dirty fountain.

     The sight of the fountain brought a flood of memories to the forefront of Cara's brain. It'd been years since she had thought deeply about Castaway's Mansion or recalled memories. It'd been years since she had been on the property, yet her muscle memory of the mansion remained intact.

     Cara maneuvered the SUV around the roundabout and brought it to the front staircase. The tires came to a squealing halt, and the brake's force jerked the car back. Cara's head smacked the headrest, but she didn't care.

     She didn't have time to care.

     Within a matter of seven seconds, she removed her black trench coat and tossed it in the passenger seat. The bulletproof vest she'd stolen was positioned over her white tank top, and the matching blazer was over it. Two rubber bands secured a baton on the right side of the vest. She also had two SIG Sauer P225 pistols with TLR-1 tactical light attachments and a Mora Garberg Knife M-12635. One pistol was tucked in the waistband on her white dress pants, while the other was attached to her left calf with a strap she'd taken from the VPD. Then, the Mora Garberg Knife was attached to her left forearm by another strap and positioned underneath the sleeve of her blazer.

     All the weapons were tucked away and out of sight. Cara had a purpose and plan for each one.

     The driver's door was thrust open, and Cara hopped out. The SUV was left running; she didn't have it in her to shut it off after hotwiring it.

     She marched toward the expansive and pristine white mansion with one loafer in front of the other. To go alone was a reckless and stupid move, but at least she brought various forms of protection.

     That's what she kept telling herself.

     Once she reached the top of the steps, she moved around the off-white pillars. All of the lights in the house were on and shining through the windows, allowing her to see where she was going. There were leaves and dirt everywhere with empty bottles and food wrappers scattered about.

     Castaway's Mansion was a shallow form of itself. The glory days had been over for a long time now, and it showed.

     Cara reached the front double doors and grabbed the rusted gold door handle on the left. There was no hesitation or fear behind her movements. Confidence, anger, and grief fueled her; they ultimately brought her there.

     All of this ended tonight and now.

     The door was shoved open, and she squinted at how bright the lights were. She walked inside, and the door was immediately slammed behind her.

     Not a millisecond was spared, and a blow was sent to her back. A cold hand curled around her neck while her feet were kicked out from under her. Cara's backside was slammed to the ground. The corners of her eyes wrinkled, and she grunted.

     Great. What ever happened to pleasantries?

     Acting on instinct, Cara kicked upward and hit the attacker in the stomach before they got a chance to climb on top of her. The hand around her neck let go, and she kicked again, sending them stumbling back.

     Everything moved in a blur.

     Cara sprung to her feet and grabbed the baton from the right side of her vest. When it was in her grasp, she swung it through the air and smacked the man across from her. The baton struck him in the face, and he misstepped, collapsing into the white railing that outlined a set of stairs that led to the second floor. He spit out a mouthful of blood, and it landed on the marble tiles.

     Cara swung the baton again and hit him on the other side of his face. She repeated the action twice and then moved to beat any part of his body that she could.

     Unfortunately, she didn't get far as the baton was snatched out of her hand and chucked toward a wide hallway. Upon walking in, it was located to the left of the front door and eventually led into one of the massive living rooms. In total, there were three living rooms, one on each floor of the mansion.

     Before she knew it, Cara's wrists were grabbed and twisted behind her back. In a matter of two seconds, she'd been dragged and slammed against the wall next to the staircase. The right side of her face was flush against the stained white paint.

     Slightly grimacing, she felt her arms being twisted tighter. No matter how uncomfortable this was and no matter how much tonight was going to hurt, she couldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he was inflicting real pain on her.

     This is what she trained herself to do for years— mask and work through the discomfort before the Founding Fathers could call her out on it. It was a safety precaution.

     Cara brought her foot up and was about to slam it into the attacker when she felt the attacker's leg wrap around hers. He stepped on top of her foot to keep it in place. Their bodies were touching, and she hated it. No noises came from her while her face pressed harshly into the wall.

     Hot breath fanned over her ear and sent chills down her spine. The locked stare she had on the carpeted stairs was interrupted as she shut her eyes.

     This was going to hurt.

     Cara gritted her teeth together and swung her free leg behind the attacker's, taking advantage of the natural weakness. With the help of her knees, she pushed off the wall with all of her weight. Before they collided with the floor, Cara managed to move her leg out of the way so it wasn't broken.

     A gasp echoed in the foyer, followed by a deep and raspy groan. Cara coughed, feeling slightly winded at the impact of her body smacking on top of his. It was an uncomfortable position to be in, to say the least.

     With the attacker pinned underneath her, Cara decided to make a risky move and rolled off. Rather than waiting for him to retaliate or hurt him, she ran across the foyer to grab the baton. Yes, she had three other weapons with her, but she didn't need him knowing that yet.

     Once the baton was back in her grasp, she turned to see the attacker charging at her. He was nothing but a blur of black fabric and denim.

     Moving at lightning speed, Cara tried to smack him with the baton, but he managed to knock it out of her hand. It hit the wall adjacent to them and left a dent. Fists of frustration were thrown, and she dodged every single one. Similar to how she'd operated in the past, her feet operated with a mind of their own. Each step was intentional and smart. She quickly took control of the situation and began spinning the pair, entering a hallway.

     More punches were thrown, and Cara continued to dodge them until the attacker's backside faced a wall. Then, she brought her right leg up and kicked him square in the chest. His back hit the wall just as she knew it would, and she jabbed him in the chest with her elbow.

      Unfortunately, he didn't allow the action to slow him down or stop him from fighting back. This time, the next punch he threw made contact with Cara's face, as did the silver ring on his right middle finger.

     A pained hiss left Cara's lips, and a crimson red liquid dripped onto her eyelid, coating her eyelashes. Her eyebrow was splitting open. A few drops of blood landed on the floor. Time slowed down.

     Inhaling sharply, Cara spun back around, and her face hardened. "Hey, Uncle Michael," she spat, tempted to reach for the gun under her blazer. "I'd say it's good to see you, but that'd be a lie."

     An elated smile took over his features, and Michael Le sighed happily. His bloodied knuckles fell to his sides. "Oh, my sweet Clementine. How I've missed being with you on cloud nine."

────

     THE BAU TEAM HADN'T FELT THIS LEVEL OF DREAD AND PANIC IN A WHILE. It'd been years since they moved with such urgency it almost clouded their judgment. No one could sit still as they neared closer to Castaway's Mansion. The unknown of what they were walking into was too big to ignore.

     Given the last seventy-two hours, Johnston and Shirzad's murders, Cara and Le's history, the shooting, and Owen's murder... There was no telling how bloody the fallout would be. Both Cara and Le were operating with an intense range of emotions fueling them.

     Sadistic euphoria and grief-ridden revenge could only yield ugly outcomes.

     The team had split into two cars. In the first one, leading the way to Castaway's Mansion, sat Morgan, Rossi, Spencer, Hotch, and Blake. In the second was JJ, Luke, Matt, and Tara. They were currently on a joint phone call.

     "Hotch, what did Lieutenant Belanger say when you requested for us to go in first?" JJ asked on the other end of the call.

     Given Captain Marvinhill's demise, Lieutenant Jonathan Belanger was the next in command at the Vancouver PD. He'd arrived at the precinct moments before the BAU and Vancouver police officers left for Castaway's Mansion. From then on, he'd been in charge and running point on the case and Michael Le's arrest. Every decision made had to be run through him.

     Hotch didn't glance up from his phone when he answered, "We have five minutes to search the mansion and locate Cara and Le. Once we find them, I'll call the Lieutenant, and the police will come in. Belanger wants a clean and clear arrest. They have jurisdiction. Also, Morgan, Blake..." The two individuals mentioned glanced at him. "Cruz and the Director approved both of you to work in the field with us as conditional agents temporarily."

     Morgan and Blake nodded in understanding.

     "So..." Matt's voice echoed throughout the speakers, "What happens if we walk in on a scene where we're forced to shoot?"

    "And what if this can't be a clean and clear arrest?" Luke asked directly after.

     Hotch finished re-reading Penelope's recent text message. According to her, Justin and the other technical analysts managed to turn the stolen SUV's GPS back on remotely, and Blake's theory was proven correct— Cara Valentine had, indeed, driven the vehicle to Castaway's Mansion. Whether she was still there was up in the air.

     "We'll cross those bridges if we get to them. This team's top priority is to separate Cara from Le and de-escalate the situation."

     No one spoke for a second.

     "All right, I have to say it..." Morgan spoke from the driver's seat, abruptly spinning the steering wheel to the right and turning the car. The identical black SUV behind the first car did the same. Red and blue police lights flashed in the distance— the Vancouver PD. "Worst case scenarios: One, we show up, and Le's dead. Two, we show up, and God forbid Valentine's hurt or worse. Three, we show up while Valentine is in the act of killing Le. Four, we show up while Le's in the act of killing Valentine. Five, we show up, and both of them are dead, or six, they're in a standoff... What then? Hotch, how do you want us to go about it?"

     A tense silence settled over the group, and almost everyone in the car looked at their Unit Chief. On the other end of the call, the rest anxiously waited for a reaction.

     In the very back of the SUV, Spencer anxiously tapped against his thigh with his eyes directed out the car window. He hadn't spoken since they left the precinct. On his right, Blake observed him from the middle row with a neutral expression. It was clear that he wasn't paying mind to the present conversation.

     "Like I said previously, this team's top priority is to separate Cara from Le and de-escalate the situation. I don't need to explain how ugly things could be at the mansion. It's understood that we're walking into a high-stakes situation. If we're forced to shoot Le, we're forced to shoot. If someone is dead, we'll call the police in. Regardless of the circumstances, I will alert Belanger, and we will handle it."

     Tara was fast to ask, "And Cara? What did Belanger have to say? Is she going to be arrested along with Le?"

     The question posed caught Spencer's attention, and he looked toward the front of the car. He subconsciously clenched his jaw.

     If Lieutenant Belanger wanted to arrest Cara for something as simple as theft rather than focusing on the real criminal here... Spencer would have words with him later. He would be damned if that happened. There were bigger things to worry about and prioritize.

     "He wasn't all too thrilled at the fact she stole an official police vehicle and several police firearms and weapons. Cara broke the law... again," Rossi answered before Hotch could. "Hotch and I managed to talk him down some. If Cara cooperates and assists in Le's arrest, Belanger will consider pressing little to no charges."

     "Belanger would rather have the man who murdered the Captain than arrest and charge Cara with theft-from-auto and firearm and property theft," Hotch added, locking his phone and sliding it into his pant pocket.

     There was a beat of silence. The mansion was only seven minutes away now.

     "What are..." JJ let out a soft breath, her voice barely audible. Hotch turned up the volume of the call. "What are the odds Cara doesn't cooperate, or she's already killed Le?"

     Another beat of silence passed. Nobody moved or replied for a moment.

     Deep down, this was a question each agent had been asking themselves.

     Cara had already exhibited body language, behavior, vernacular, and actions that indicated she was unwilling to work with the team. The latest examples of this were when she ran head-first into her childhood home alone, told the team she wouldn't take orders or consider other options, went to Headingley Correctional Institution without them, and silently ditched everyone to embark on a mission that could turn fatal. And that wasn't including the smaller instances in between.

     Depending on when the team arrived, Cara could be too far gone to talk down.

     Yes, Rossi, Hotch, and Spencer would be present— her biggest voices of reason— but that didn't mean she would listen to them. In any other context, she likely would, but right now? Tonight? Perhaps not.

     "I believe we should give Valentine some credit. She is well-trained and conscious of her decisions, no matter how rash they might seem. She could show some resistance and certainly inflict serious bodily harm, but murdering Le?"

     Blake was unable to finish her statement as Hotch cut her off. "There's a fifty-fifty chance Cara doesn't cooperate. She's angry. She has twenty-three years of pent-up anger living inside her. Therapy has helped with releasing and letting go, but it's still there. It's already blinded her."

     Glancing at Spencer in the rearview mirror, Morgan saw the genius frowning and staring down at his lap. He was tapping the recognizable one-two-one pattern on his outer right thigh.

     "After everything she's gone through... as much as it makes everyone on this team uncomfortable, it needs to be addressed..." Rossi said, catching Hotch's eye. They both knew where he was going with this, and neither liked it. "We all know Cara is capable of more than murder. The Red Scorpions, its leaders, and the Founding Fathers made sure of that. So, everyone needs to ready themselves for the worst-case scenario."

     Nobody asked which scenario that was. Truthfully, there were a lot of worst-case scenarios.

     Hotch cleared his throat. "When we arrive, Morgan and I will go in first. Everyone else will follow behind. See you there."

     At that, the call ended.

     A tense silence filled the car. Morgan ignored the red light up ahead and took a sharp left. Thankfully, the streets were empty.

     Everyone was in a world of their own and drowning in their thoughts. A lot was resting on the team and Cara. There was no telling where tonight was headed.

     In the back, Spencer covered his face with one hand. His eyes were closed, and his lips were pressed into a paper-thin line. Out of all his teammates, he was the one who had gone over every conceivable scenario and every single outcome— good and bad. The dozens of what-ifs in his mind were haunting him, and he was petrified at the mere suggestion of losing Cara.

     After everything they went through... After everything she went through...

     If Le hurt her...

     Inhaling deeply, Spencer shook his head. It was taking everything not to go there.

     No matter how many times he tried to reroute his brain from taking the broken down, beaten path, he still found himself on it. In a way, it was impracticable not to, given how deep the conflict with the Red Scorpions, Founding Fathers, Cara, and Le was. The history of all four was shrouded in lies, manipulation, drugs, sex, abuse, death, and blood. There was nothing good or redeemable about any of it aside from Cara.

     And speaking of history... it was repeating itself in this case.

     Like many instances before, Spencer was riddled with guilt and self-loathing as the group drove down the barren streets of Vancouver. He was swallowing mouthfuls of guilt and self-hatred in between breaths. He was mad at himself because he didn't read Cara's behavioral cues for what they were earlier. As usual, he overlooked them when he knew, yet again, that something was off. He shouldn't have, but he did, and now she was gone again.

     This was a cycle he'd been through one too many times. Spencer never learned, so he kept falling for the same self-made traps.

     For a genius, he sure was operating nonsensically.

     Not only did he ignore his instincts, but he also didn't figure out where Cara had gone to meet Le. The answer had been directly in his face, clear as day, and he missed it. In fact, Cara had inadvertently told the team yesterday. It was simple and so obvious, and Spencer should have caught onto it before Blake did.

     Unfortunately, as he'd been told in the past, his emotions were his Achilles heel. Whenever he was emotional, he only saw what was right in front of him and nothing else. He functioned blindly, and here he was— doing just that.

     He needed to clear his mind before the team arrived at Castaway's Mansion. It was next to impossible, though. All he could think and care about was Cara and getting to her in time.

     Spencer's chest heaved up, and he opened his eyes. His line of sight flickered to the window on his left. The tapping on his thigh continued.

     Slowly, Cara leaned forward and lightly touched his free hand. Almost instantaneously, his fingers curled around hers. "Do you feel that?" she whispered, watching how he stared down at their hands.

     Spencer took a few steps closer until only a couple of inches separated them. "Yeah," he replied, voice quiet.

     With her other hand, Cara lifted his chin until they locked eyes. Her index finger pressed against the tip of his chin before it slid up. Chills rushed down Spencer's spine as she cupped his cheek, lightly running her thumb over it. "And that?"

     He melted under her touch and bounced his eyes between hers. "Yeah."

     "Good," she murmured, the corners of her mouth tugging up. "You're not going to lose that. You're not going to lose me. I'm not going anywhere."

     If he lost that... lost her... No.

     Spencer couldn't do it again; he couldn't lose her a second time and for good. If he did... he wouldn't be able to function.

     "Hold on," he muttered, keeping his voice inaudible. "Please, hold on."

     And for a moment, he didn't know whether those words were meant for Cara or himself.

────

     IT FELT LIKE NO TIME HAD PASSED SINCE THEY SAW THE OTHER LAST. Despite the changes and growth in their physical appearances, Cara and Le both felt like it was only yesterday that the blonde was being held against her will by Le and the Founding Fathers. For one of them, this reunion was happening far too soon, but it needed to be one and done. Hopefully, tonight was the last time they would be in the other's presence ever again.

     "How'd you like your birthday present? I assumed seeing their bodies would be pleasant," Le hummed happily, outstretching a hand to tuck strands of loose hair behind Cara's ear.

     Cara smacked his hand away with a scowl. "Fuck you..." she said, taking a step back. Images of Shirzad and Johnston's corpses flashed in her mind. "Fuck you."

     "That's no way to speak to me," he sighed, shoulders dropping in disappointment at her behavior. Things were continuing to be off to a bad start. First, they were fighting, and now she was ungrateful. "Answer my question: How'd you like your birthday present?"

     "Don't you mean your birthday present?!" Cara snapped, curling her fingers into fists. She wore an expression of disgust. "It was more of a gift for you than for me. Everything that happened following Johnston and Shirzad's deaths was intentional and planned. We both know that."

     Le raised an innocent brow. "Do we?"

     "Yes. We do," she said, wiping the blood off her eyelid and lashes. The cut in her eyebrow stung. "Their deaths were nothing more than a means to an end. You know how I operate when it comes to you. You knew how to lure me back to you. You're smart."

     A grin pulled at his lips and almost stretched all the way to his ears. It was the smile that lived in the darkest corners of Cara's mind and lingered in the shadows of her bedroom at night when she couldn't sleep. It sent paralyzing cold chills down her spine, nearly incapacitating her.

     "It worked, did it not?"

     Tears prickled in the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them away. "Yes," she choked out in a hoarse tone. She cleared her throat. "At the ultimate price of Owen, Captain Marvinhill, and Officer Bellamy's lives."

     At the inclusion of Owen Sánchez, Le's eyes darkened. A furious and murderous glare took over his features.

     "Owen was in the way and always has been. His death was a means to an end and a long time coming. If it weren't for him, your heart would be free and with me."

     Throughout this entire case, Le hadn't spiraled once. Everything he did and every move he made was calculated. He didn't let rage or jealousy dictate what he did. Rather, he let it fuel him while controlling it.

     Now that he had what he wanted, though, he could let go; he could spiral into emotional madness. He could temporarily give away his control of the situation. He got what he wanted.

     Cara inhaled sharply, her chest heaving up. "Owen was never in the way. My heart has never belonged to anyone aside from my father and myself—" Lie. It also belonged to Spencer. "—and it will never be with you. It never has—"

     "It can be now."

     A haunting and chilled silence took hold of the conversation. They both stood motionless.

     It took Cara a moment to collect herself, but Le spoke before she could.

     "In time, you'll come to see that this is for the better."

     "The better what?"

     "There is no one left from our past and our history. It's only us."

      It was only them because Le murdered Owen.

     "Are you really that insecure that you had to murder somebody I used to be in love with and haven't shown loyalty to in years? Owen deserved a lot of shit, but he never deserved to be put to death. His death is not for the better."

     Le laughed hysterically. "YES, IT IS! He was in my way!"

     "Your way to what?! Me?!" Cara shouted, growing red in the face. "How many times do I have to tell you that I don't want anything to do with you?!"

     Years ago, Le compromised his power and intimidating reputation and so he left Cara at Balmoral Tower to be rescued. He paused the game he'd been playing with her since she was a child and gave her time to rebuild. Then, he came back with a bang— killing the remaining Founding Fathers— and ensured that he paralyzed Cara with fear. After all, he was her biggest fear, but what he hadn't considered was that murdering Owen Sánchez would be the final nail in the coffin. Le didn't consider that Owen's death would be what turned that fear into vengefulness.

     Yes, he effectively and emotionally paralyzed her, but the shock had worn off. The fear that used to reside in Cara's chest and outweighed her anger tenfold was no longer. She didn't feel an ounce of it anymore.

     Cara wasn't afraid.

     Cara was grief-ridden, angry, and fed up.

     She wanted Michael Le dead.

     "All I've wanted since I was twelve was for you to leave me the fuck alone! Owen was the first person who ever truly loved or gave a shit about me—"

     "That's not true—"

     "He is the only reason why I made it through the final years of you grooming and molesting me—"

     "That is not true! I did not!"

     Cara's jaw dropped. Wow. "Yes, the fuck it is! You groomed me and repeatedly expected the unspeakable from a kid. If it weren't for Owen and my father's overdose, I would have killed myself because of you. You aren't the savior you believe you are!"

     That final sentence seemed to be the one that hit the hardest. Le's eyes darkened, and his chin upturned. Then, he threw the first punch.

     At the taste of a metal liquid filling up her mouth, Cara spat it out. Her bottom lip was busted from her involuntarily biting it, and she wiped her mouth, smearing blood across her cheek and palm.

     Fine.

     In response, Cara returned the gesture, giving Le an identical punch.

     When her fist collided with him, she felt his upper jaw crack, and her hand stung. It felt like she broke a wooden board and nearly broke her hand. It'd been a long time since she'd punched anything.

     Le quickly retaliated and threw punches left and right. Blood coated his busted lips.

     Cara held her arms in front of her and blocked the hits, catching him off guard. And just like she did with Johnston years ago, she used it to her advantage.

     The next time his fists were thrust in her direction, she grabbed them tightly. Drawing him closer, she kicked him square in the chest, knocking the air out of him. Le misstepped, and she threw a blow to his head so hard he spun around and fell into the wall. She grimaced at the sound of her knuckles cracking.

     When Le faced her, there was a tiny gash in his forehead and the sight of it made Cara happy. A fist was thrown her way, and she dodged it. Pulling her right knee up, she extended her leg and slammed the heel of her loafer into his chest. The wind was knocked out of him again, and Le hit the wall.

     Cara took the opportunity to bash her fist into the bottom of Le's chin. He bit down on his tongue at the force of the blow. Using her left hand, she managed to score a punch across the face. A smirk appeared when blood fell from his mouth.

     All right, if she wanted to continue this and kill him, she needed to get out of the hallway. The longer she stayed there, the less damage she could do. After all, it wasn't the world's widest hallway. Also, she had a knife and two pistols that she didn't intend on wasting.

     Sprinting out of the hallway and toward the right side of the curved two-sided staircase, she finalized the plan she'd created.

     On the second floor, there was a bedroom located in the west wing that'd been used as an office. It was where Owen told Cara he loved her for the first time. That's where she would go. It was almost poetic.

     Cara had only gone up five stairs when her ankle was pulled out from under her. Desperately, her hands grabbed onto a white railing post for support. The left side of her forehead smacked on the edge of a step, and she heard a quiet crack. She groaned. A warm liquid trailed down her face, and she got an immediate headache.

     Great. She definitely just got a concussion.

     "NO! STOP!"

     The tips of her fingers brushed against the growing wound on her forehead, and she winced. It burned and throbbed. Blinking, she rewrapped her bloodied hand around the railing post and used it to scramble to her feet. However, it was no use as she was yanked down again.

     Yelping, she unknowingly placed a hand on a stair and clenched her eyes shut in pain. Both the right and left sides of her body had made a blunt impact with the wooden staircase, undoubtedly leaving bruises.

     "Clementine..."

     Cara reopened her eyes and saw Le looming over her. Quickly, she shoved her foot into his chest with such force it sent him flying backward and tumbling down the stairs and to the ground. A cry echoed.

     She turned onto her stomach and pushed off the staircase with both hands. She felt a little lightheaded as she ran to the landing pad, reaching the second floor.

     "CLEMENTINE! GET, GET BACK HERE!"

     Not a glance was spared, and Cara ran despite how disoriented she was.

     A dimly lit corridor awaited her, and she disappeared into it, using her hands to guide the way. At the end of it, she turned right, and her vision went in and out, thanks to the flickering overhead lights.

     Cara moved across the narrow carpet in the center of the hallway, stepping on pieces of scattered trash. Her hands skimmed across sprayed-painted symbols and words on the walls. Her eyes darted from left to right, searching for the room. There were two on the left and three on the right. All of the doors were boarded up with planks of wood, and she internally groaned. The final door on the right led to the room she wanted to get into, but it was boarded up, too.

     "Goddammit. No. No," she muttered, glimpsing over her shoulder.

     Le hadn't caught up yet.

     Since her initial plan was now a bust, she had to think on her feet.

     Getting trapped in a hallway wasn't happening again. She needed to find a bigger space. If she wandered further into the west wing... there were other rooms and areas... Her memory of Castaway's Mansion layout was rusty.

     No more time could be wasted.

     Cara began running again and reached the end of the hallway, entering a rectangular room. However, she didn't stop moving; she kept going and disappeared into a hallway directly across from the one she had come out of. This time, though, the lights weren't dim or flickering. Instead, they were completely out, and Cara couldn't see a thing. The only light she had was the lingering light from the rectangular room.

     In the distance, she heard what could be footsteps and devoured the panic creeping in. Again, she used her hands to guide the way and moved the quickest she could.

     Suddenly, the footsteps caught up to her at lightning speed and Cara was grabbed by the waist. She couldn't help but let out a yelp of surprise.

     The world moved fast and before she knew it, she was pinned to a wall. It was dark, but she knew who it was and could make out a few features on his face. She'd be able to see more when her vision fully adjusted.

     A stiff yet trembling force wrapped around her throat, and she gasped for air. Le was staring directly into her eyes and rested his forehead against hers. Slowly, he tightened his grip, and she winced. It wasn't harsh enough to where she couldn't breathe completely.

     "Everything I've done is for you, for us. Stop... pissing... me... off," he seethed, glancing at her crimson-painted lips. "We need to leave. I have something planned, and you're fucking the plan up."

     Cara shook her head. "I don't give a damn about your plan. I'm not going anywhere with you. I came here because you murdered three innocent people, and I'm done letting you haunt me."

     "I don't care," Le shrugged, wearing a lopsided grin. It was like her words had no effect. Like no matter what she said, he was going to hear whatever he wanted to hear and do whatever he wanted.

     Hear...

     Cara's gaze trailed to his right ear, and she shifted under Le's touch. The Mora Garberg Knife was stolen and brought for a reason.

     "Owen is hardly innocent. He should have been killed years ago. As for the other two... Clementine... you know I will always do whatever it takes to have you."

     "Right. 'Cause if you can't have me, nobody can," she replied instantaneously, glowering at him for the comment about Owen.

     Le nodded, brushing his nose against hers. "Precisely."

     It sickened her to be this close to him— to feel him so dangerously close— to know he was close enough to get off on it. It made her want to throw up. There was only one person she ever wanted to be this close to her, and it wasn't him.

     Swinging her left arm up, Cara struck her tricep against the arms keeping her neck pressed to the wall. Le hadn't been expecting it, and his grip loosened. She did it again and placed her palms on his shoulders, pushing them further down the hallway.

     "Clem—"

     Cara let go of him and stopped walking. Instead, she grabbed the side of Le's head and bashed the other against the wall, creating a head-shaped dent and bloodstain. That shut him up right away.

     Before Le could recover or blink, Cara turned around and grabbed one of his arms, yanking him closer. She bent her knees and pulled him over her body, flipping him onto his back. There was a loud thud at the impact. His head and body hit the ground, and he groaned. His eyes fluttered shut as he washed over in pain. Somehow, he wasn't unconscious, and somehow, he got to his feet quicker than anticipated.

     Cara had only been able to get a few feet away and was about to grab the hidden knife when Le charged at her. He shoved her against the wall, right next to where she'd slammed his head.

     "I did so much for you, and all you want is to fight," he said, pressing the sides of his forearms against her collarbones and shoulders. "I'm trying hard not to hurt you too badly."

     "I don't care," Cara quoted him, feeling a weight on her right foot. She grabbed onto his arms and tried to remove them, but he didn't budge.

     Le let out a huff, blood dripping down the sides of his face. "A simple "thank you," would go a long way— especially a "thank you" for the birthday gift."

     "Right, right. The gift. So what happened with Johnston and Shirzad, huh?" she grunted, fighting the grip he had on her. "Get tired of babysitting?"

     Le's eyes narrowed, and his hold tightened. "Johnston told me you'd moved on and were happy. I wanted you to heal, but happy?"

     "So, I was right. Johnston took up stalking again," she interrupted, grimacing when she felt her shoulder blades dig into the wall.

     "I had to ensure you were doing all right," he hissed. "Both you and I know you're happiest with me."

     "We've got different definitions of happy if you believe that," Cara grumbled, abruptly thrusting her knee up and successfully knocking his arms off her. As Le stumbled backward, she kicked him in the chest and sent him into the wall across from her. He lost his balance and toppled to the floor again.

     Not a moment was spared, and Cara climbed on top of him. "Do you remember..." Her hands latched onto his neck, and she dug her nails into his skin as she squeezed. "Do you remember all the times this happened, huh? All the times you've strangled me since I was a child?" Le was red in the face and pounding his feet on the ground while reaching toward her neck. She shifted more of her body weight forward and pressed harder. He began wheezing, panic in his eyes.

     "How's it feel? How does it feel to drown and not have any oxygen reach your brain? Do you..." she grunted when he grabbed her arms and tried to kick her off, "Do you hear that annoyingly loud ringing and buzzing noise yet?"

     Perhaps she didn't need a knife or gun to kill him...

     The moment was interrupted when Le managed to get the upper hand and flip them. He grabbed Cara's hands and pinned them to the floor above her head. Their faces were inches apart, and he was straddling her.

     "You're injured. You don't mean any of that, so don't make me do this," Le growled between gasps for air.

     Cara glared at him. "Do what? Hurt me? You've never had an issue doing it in the past."

     "No. This." Le held her hands with one of his and used the free one to gesture to themselves. He was slightly shaking. "This is supposed to be our reunion. Don't make me ruin us. Quit fighting."

     A laugh left her mouth, and she shook her head. "There was never an us to begin with. I was ruined twenty-three years ago!"

     He inhaled sharply at her statement. That wasn't true.

     "After all these years, you still believe that."

     "Yeah, 'cause it's the truth, you delusional bastard!"

     At that, Cara pulled her knee up and pushed him off her. Then, she grabbed onto his shoulders and shoved him back onto the ground. Quickly, she pulled out the knife she'd attached to her left forearm underneath the sleeve of her blazer. Her legs were on either side of his body, and she acted on instinct.

     The end of the blade swung down, and she plunged it into his upper right arm. A stunned gasp filled the hallway; she yanked it out and sank it into his arm again. Blood splattered on the wall when she abruptly pulled the blade out and stabbed Le in the left arm. There was another scream.

     Le's eyes were shut briefly, and Cara knew this was her chance to get even.

     With gritted teeth, she reached to the left and pressed the edge of the knife's blade against the dip of skin between the side of Le's head and his right ear. She put all her body weight and strength into the first slice she made on Le's ear. Immediately, blood appeared, and she smirked.

     Screams of anguish and unimaginable pain echoed throughout the house. If somebody were outside, they'd hear the spectacle behind Castaway Mansion's doors.

     Blood sprayed and poured from the severed arteries in Le's ear. It got on the walls and landed on Cara's face, hands, arms, body, clothes— it stained everything. Her eyelashes had blood dripping off them, and her vision was blurred, but she kept cutting.

     It wasn't until there was an audible rip of the flesh and a small weight landed in her hand that Cara stopped. She blinked away the blood and saw Le's ear resting in her palm.

     Now they were even.

     Le was hyperventilating and had involuntary tears leaking from his eyes. He was breathing heavily with his mouth open and moaning in pain.

     Cara heaved a sigh and slumped forward, exhausted. Due to the amount of blood covering her hands, the knife slipped out of her grasp. Droplets fell from her fingertips, and she clenched the severed ear. Her eyes closed, and her arms rested on Le's chest.

     As she fought to catch her breath and regroup, Le noticed her bulletproof vest shift through slitted and tearful eyes. The shift revealed a sliver of blue and purple located where her neck and collarbones met. It was light, but he saw and knew what it was. A glare overtook his face.

     Le reached above his head and grabbed the knife without hesitation. He brought it down and drove the blade into the hickey. Through gritted teeth, he twisted it. The mere thought of anyone giving her a hickey, aside from him, made him livid.

     A whimper of pain could scarcely be heard, and tears pooled in Cara's eyes. She clenched her jaw and hunched over more. She let go of the ear. The knife was ripped out of her, and she felt Le drag the edge of it down her right arm, tearing through the sleeve of her blazer and piercing her skin.

     It's fine. She's fine. He's done worse to her. She's survived worse.

     She is fine.

     Don't react. Don't react. Don't react. Don't react. Don't react. Don't react. Don't react. Don't react. Don't react. Don't react. Don't react. Don't react. Don't react. Don't react. Don't react. Don't react. Don't react. Don't react— Fuck this.

     Cara reopened her eyes and pulled her left arm up, striking Le in the center of his throat with her elbow. Immediately, he gagged on his own breath, and his head bounced up before hitting the floor. He was struck in the eye next, causing him to cry out. The knife dropped, and Cara shoved it away, along with his ear.

     Without a word, she leaned back on her knees and pushed off the floor with one hand, standing. Her blood mixed with Le's on the carpet. She stepped around his body as fast as she could and ran down the hall.

     When she reached the end, she turned right, entering another hallway. She kept running. She kept going until an open doorway appeared on the left.

     She needed time to recuperate and get the upper hand again.

     Upon entering the familiar second living room, Cara spun so her back wasn't to the entrance. Her chest heaved up and down laboriously.

     It wasn't a massive room by any means. Although, it had changed quite a bit since she last visited. The double doors on the opposing end of the room, directly across from the set she ran through, were opened as always. It led to a landing strip outlined by a railing with white railing posts. The landing went in both directions, the left leading to a set of steps that ended on the first floor, and the right eventually connecting to the landing in the east wing. Over the railing was an overhead view of the first floor's living room. A wine-red carpet covered most of the hardwood.

     All the sofas and tables from years ago were long gone. Paintings that once hung were on the floor and leaning on the walls. Graffiti decorated the space. Two crumpled sleeping bags were on opposite ends of the room. A full-length standing oval mirror was off to the left, and Cara recognized it. The mirror had been in Castaway Mansion for as long as she could remember. On her right was a desk and chair she used to sit at when hacking. It was covered in dust and cobwebs.

     Other than that, the room was empty.

     Cara reached under her clothes and vest and grabbed the hidden gun from her waistband. Surprisingly, it hadn't fallen out. Right as she pulled it out and prepared to aim it, a blow was sent to the right side of her body with such force that she nearly fell.

     Le had caught up and barrelled into her, grabbing onto the gun, too.

     Feet tripping over the other, Cara was driven into the full-length mirror. Glass shattered and landed on the carpet. The grip she had on the gun loosened, and she grimaced while Le wrestled her for it. Their faces were inches apart, and hers was twisted in pain and disgust while he was sneering. Their bodies rocked side to side, and her head hit the mirror.

     "Let... go..."

     Le jerked them around and slammed her into the wall on their right. They were still wrestling for the gun, and one of their fingers pulled the trigger, effectively sending a bullet into the ceiling. Neither knew who did it, but it didn't matter.

     Unexpectedly, Le lost balance and sent them both to the floor. The now bloodied gun flew across the room and into the hallway where the railing was.

     Cara's eyes didn't leave the gun, and she untangled herself from Le, kicking him away. She scrambled to her feet and went for the gun, but was tackled into a wall.

     The front side of her body hit the surface, leaving behind smears of blood. Her palms landed on the wall and she felt Le's wrap around her chest. He was pressing them against the wall, trying to get their bodies as close as possible and simultaneously trying to hurt her.

     Cara grunted and tried to shrug him off, but she couldn't. She was running out of moves and steam, and with their position, she didn't have many options.

     So, she did what she could. Her nails scratched the wall, leaving behind marks, digging into the paint, and gathering under her nails. She managed to get her foot on the wall and pushed, effectively moving her and Le toward the center of the room.

     In response, Le spun them in a circle and threw her to the floor. Due to how abrupt the movement was, Cara involuntarily yelped. Her body rolled over and over before she eventually landed on her chest.

     The world around her was spinning, and shaking it off took a second. She went to sit up and pressed a hand into the carpet, but was interrupted.

     Le marched over and seized her by the upper left arm, yanking her to her feet. The force of the pull was so strong that Cara stumbled when she stood, but was promptly picked up. Her knees were almost buckling under the pressure of his grip. Le dragged her out of the room through the other entrance and toward the railing that overlooked the downstairs living room.

     The stab wound under her collarbone was still bleeding, and she pressed her free hand against it. Unfortunately, that didn't help much. Blood was crawling between the slight gaps in her fingers and trailing down the back of her hand and arm, disappearing underneath the sleeve of the blazer. The bulletproof vest was partially painted crimson— the letters "VPD" tainted.

     "This attitude of yours is getting old, and your words are too bold. You've hurt me."

     Ah. Here we go.

     "Go fuck yourself."

     The angrier he got, the more Le spoke in rhymes. It was his way of scaring her shitless as a kid and during captivity... It was all part of the mind games he played. First, he'd start rhyming and crafting riddles. Eventually, he'd sing in rhymes, and that's when the gaslighting, manipulation, and mind games would begin.

     "I told you to stop trying to ruin us, and now you've broken my trust."

     "Oh, please."

     The closer they got to the railing, the more Cara understood where this might lead. One or both of them could be thrown off, and given how things were going... Someone was going to go sky-diving.

     It was as if her fight-flight-or-freeze instincts kicked in: Her feet dug into the carpet, her body turned to the right, and she began jostling side to side, trying to shove him off her.

     All Le did in response was laugh.

     He laughed like she'd told him the funniest joke in the world.

     He laughed like her efforts to get away were meaningless and entertaining.

     He laughed like he was enjoying himself— enjoying this.

     And truthfully, in his mind, according to his logic, this was funny. Cara's reactions and behavior were funny. He also knew they were temporary. Either she would come to her senses, realize how ungrateful she'd been and that they belonged together, apologize, and leave with him willingly, or she would be given an overdue and scare-induced wake-up call and punished.

     Somehow, some way, he was going to get what he wanted.

     And if worse came to worse and she was unreasonable... well... it was like she said: If he can't have her, nobody can.

     "Your body still thinks I'm poison, but your mind is a perverted mess," Le hissed, whirling her around so her back was to the railing. Both hands gripped her biceps. All signs of amusement were gone, and so was his laughter. "I've done my best to convince otherwise. It's frustrating, I must confess."

     "You know what else is frustrating? You still speaking to me in riddles like I'm eleven years old," she spat, jerking her arm away from his touch again, but she failed. He only held on tighter. "Grow up!"

     Le's jaw was set. "No."

     Cara rolled her eyes. "You do know I'm not eleven or sixteen anymore, right? I'm not a child. I'm not under your thumb. I haven't been for a while."

     "Why can't you see what I see? Y—"

     "'Cause I'm not a psychotic situational child molester or a power and control-hungry fucker who only gets off on the pain inflicted on one specific individual who has never done anything to warrant being tortured and violated and has willingly and unwillingly given you everything."

     Silence.

     Stillness.

     Then, red-hot pain.

     Le dug his nails deep into the cut he'd carved in Cara's arm and tugged harshly, ripping her skin. Blood spilled on the ground. A bone-chilling scream, the first one from Cara so far, filled the space and bounced off the mansion walls.

     Almost collapsing on the floor, her legs shook. Tears pooled in the rim of her eyes, and her teeth were clenched.

     "Never done anything?!" Le repeated loudly, shaking her body. "Given me everything?!"

     "Yes!" Cara said weakly, lifting her gaze. He brought them closer to the railing. "I don't see what you see, and thank God I don't. I never did anything to you, and you ruined my life! I gave you everything, and to this goddamn day, it has never been enough. You are never full. There's somehow always more to take, even though you have taken everything!"

     Her backside slammed against the railing, and she unintentionally leaned backward, nearly halfway over it. Le was fuming. He was red from the tips of his ears down to his neck. His eyes were wide and crazed while he was manhandling her, still digging into the cut.

     "Haven't I given you enough?" His anger didn't dissipate at her question. "Haven't I given enough?!"

     "No."

     More tears blurred Cara's vision, and her face twisted in anger. Deep down, she knew nothing would be enough until she went with him and disappeared forever— and that wasn't happening. She came here to avenge Owen and kill Le. So that's what she would do.

     "Tonight, I re-learned a fact I'd chosen to ignore," Le said, throwing her into the railing again. One of the posts snapped off and fell downstairs. "And if you deny it, I'll drop you to the ground floor."

     Cara narrowed her stare and swallowed the lump in her throat. "What." It wasn't even a question. It wasn't because she was tired.

     "You haven't thanked me for a single thing I've done for you since you were sixteen," he said, pushing her until half of her backside was nearly hanging. He was almost tipping her over the edge. There was a slight panic lingering in the depths of her eyes that he picked up on. Good. "All you've done is be fucking mean."

     "I have nothing to thank you for," she breathed, standing on the tips of her toes, desperate not to leave the floor. She clutched onto the blood-soaked fabric of his shirt. "And I have no reason to be nice to you. I might've considered it if you ever apologized for a single thing you did to me."

     The corners of his lips quirked. "Apologize? I have nothing to apologize for."

     "Then why don't you try to take some fucking responsibility?!" Cara asked.

     Le inhaled sharply and knocked her backside against the railing as hard as he could. "I might when you learn to be fucking grateful!"

     Cara aggressively moved from side to side, trying to break free. "Grateful?" she huffed, hearing a railing post snap from their collective weight. Suddenly, his hands left her biceps and wrapped around her body. She pounded hers against her chest, desperate to be free of him. "Grateful for what?!"

     "Me."

     "That's hilarious," she scoffed, nearly tripping over their feet.

     Le growled, "Our entire relationship... you've been nothing but ungrateful!" He slammed the side of their bodies into the railing and tried to tip her over again. The splinter in the wood grew, and a few more cracks appeared.

     "'Cause I never wanted anything from you!" Cara shouted, thrashing about in his arms.

     If he kept this up, he would send them both over the railing and to the near-empty living room.

     A fall from the second floor could be deadly. Someone can die falling from their own height, and many have died from falling from a six to eight-foot drop. Naturally, either Cara or Le could die from the fall if they landed in the wrong position— especially on their head.

     "Oh, what lies you tell."

     "Oh, get over yourself!" Cara spoke through gritted teeth as Le shoved her against the railing. Another railing post snapped in half, and two more broke off entirely. The posts disappeared somewhere underneath the walkway downstairs.

     Meanwhile, the BAU team had finally arrived and was rushing through the front double doors. All of them had their weapons drawn with their flashlights on, just in case. Matt shut the door, shielding them from the local PD's sight.

     Upon entering, JJ was the first to notice the drops and trails of blood littering the marble floor and how a few were smeared. Her eyes darted around the grand foyer, and she almost squinted at how bright everything was. Given that the walls were painted white, the floors were made of white granite marble tiles, and the entire staircase was white, the opening room was exceptionally bright and felt larger than it truly was.

     Wait... The staircase...

     JJ steered her line of sight back to the curved two-sided staircase. It resembled ones she'd seen in historic estates and luxury hotels.

     The staircase began on either side of the foyer against opposing walls with a wide bottom step that gradually shortened the further it climbed. The stairs winded upwards to the second floor with outer handrails that had rusted gold accents. Once it stopped on the second floor, there was a landing that split into opposite directions and led into what appeared to be corridors. A few feet back, in the center of the landing, was a singular flight of stairs that presumably proceeded to the third floor.

     However, something stood out and caught JJ's attention. Bright red handprints decorated random steps and the railing posts on the right side of the staircase. There were two distinguishable sets, one larger than the other, and they were fresh. The blood hadn't dried, and that fact reassured JJ that the team was likely at the right location.

     Fortunately, JJ wasn't the only one who'd noticed the various blood trails. The rest of the team had, too. A few also noticed the abandoned baton off to the left, peaking out of a darkened hallway where there was a dent in the wall.

     Spencer's eyes were locked on a set of small red handprints wrapped around a railing post halfway up the stairs. A chord of desperation and anger struck him.

     If Le so much as...

     "All right. We have five minutes. Tara, you, Morgan, and Blake will take the first floor," Hotch announced, gesturing to their surroundings. "Reid, Simmons, and I will take the second. JJ, you, Alvez, and R—"

     A sudden thump followed by a solid thud cut Hotch off from somewhere above. Distant voices could be heard, and there was a possible yelp for help.

     It was them.

     In unplanned unison, Hotch and Morgan motioned for the team to go upstairs. All the previous plans were tossed aside. If they followed the noises, they'd find Cara and Le.

     One by one, they wordlessly rushed up the steps and got to the landing pad. Since the thump and thud had only occurred once and weren't overtly loud, it was difficult to know whether to go left, right, or to the third floor. So, they waited.

     A beat of silence passed.

     A crack accompanied another thud.

     Immediately, everyone went to the left and wandered down a dimly lit corridor. Flashlights were used to guide the way. Morgan and Hotch were in the lead, with Rossi and Spencer and JJ and Matt directly behind them. Lastly, there was Tara, Blake, and Luke. No one spoke.

     The corridor was rather short, so the team was forced to take a right when they reached a dead end. The next hallway was longer, and the overhead lights were flickering. A narrow red carpet was in the center of the hallway's hardwood and spread throughout the space.

     As the group moved, they passed a total of five rooms— two on the left, and three on the right. Each door was boarded up with planks of wood, making it impossible for Cara and Le to be in there. The walls were spray-painted with random words, phrases, gang symbols, and images of scorpions. Random names the team didn't know were written near the ceiling in what appeared to be a permanent marker. There were a few dents and holes, but nothing too concerning. Streaks of a dark color stained the carpet, but it was difficult to tell what the stains were composed of. Pieces of trash were scattered about.

     Eventually, the hallway came to an end and led to a rectangular room.

      An overhead light was on. There were large windows on the left and right, providing a view of the front and back of the mansion. Paintings of British Columbia decorated the walls but had been sprayed painted over by rival gangs. Writing and symbols still served as decor. Directly across from the hallway were three doors and another hallway. On the wall that led into the previous hallway, there was a door on each side. All of the doors were a wine-red color and had scratch marks.

     "Fan out."

     That was the only instruction Hotch gave.

     Everyone split off and went to different rooms.

     Spencer held his gun and flashlight tightly as he ran to two of the doors across from him. He subconsciously held his breath and opened the first one, only to find a coat closet with nothing but a sleeping bag inside. The second was a dark and small bathroom littered with leaves, dirt, bugs, trash, and old pieces of torn clothing.

     She wasn't there.

     "Empty," he called bitterly, tempted to slam the bathroom door shut.

     "Same here."

     "This one's empty too!"

     Reports of no progress bounced around.

     "Let's go," Hotch ordered, heading to the next hallway. Rossi, Morgan, and Spencer followed his lead, and the rest trickled behind.

     This time, the lights weren't dim and burning out or flickering. Instead, they were completely out, requiring the team to rely entirely on their flashlights.

     Halfway down the hallway, Hotch noticed a head-sized crimson stain coming up on the right with splatters of blood painted further down. Part of the wall was sunken in, creating a slight hole. Acting on instinct, he slowed down and lowered his flashlight.

     And there it was— the first physical confirmation that Cara was still at the mansion.

     The stolen Mora Garberg Knife M-12635 lay on the floor. It was covered in blood with jagged chunks of skin stuck to the blade. And less than a foot away sat a bloody tan ear— a right ear. It wasn't attached to anything. The rest of the floor surrounding them was littered with blood.

     Hotch looked over his shoulder and made eye contact with Rossi. So did Morgan and Tara, and Matt and Luke. Blake stifled a sigh, and JJ's eyes widened. Spencer blanched and gulped. No words were exchanged. They all knew and understood that Cara's rage had taken over. The severing of the right ear symbolized how the Founding Fathers performed a stapedectomy on her during captivity and stole all of her hearing in her right ear.

     It was satisfying to know that Cara finally served Le his just deserts. She got to enact her equivalent of hearing loss on him. After everything she'd been subjected to, she got to return the favor for once. However, beyond that, how far had she gone?

     How far had her rage taken her?

     A total of four seconds was spent lingering on the knife and ear. Then, the group continued and turned right at the end of the elongated hallway. There was nothing special to note in the connected hallway beside a few red stains on the carpet. There were no doors or rooms yet so they kept walking straight until turning left into another large rectangular room— the second living room.

     Right as the team entered and spotted Cara and Le on the opposite side through another set of double doors, the pair went over a railing and disappeared from sight. Off to the side, there was a blood-soaked gun that resembled one of the SIG Sauer P225 pistols Cara stole.

     "NO!" Spencer screamed, face and stomach dropping. He almost ran to the railing, but Hotch held him back.

     "CARA!" Rossi shouted.

     Rossi, JJ, Luke, and Tara's faces fell. Matt unconsciously lowered his gun an inch, and Blake gasped.

     "Go, go, go!" Hotch ordered, gesturing for the team to go downstairs. "NOW! MOVE!"

     Morgan was ahead of the man and doing exactly that. His jaw was set, and he was silently praying that Cara would be alive when they got to her.

     "We've located Le and Valentine. I'm requesting an additional ten minutes to de-escalate the situation!" Hotch shouted into his microphone, running down the hallway with everyone else. He let go of the button on his earpiece and turned left.

     Instantly, Lieutenant Belanger replied on the other end of the comm system. "Copy. Ten minutes, and then we're coming in."

     Hopefully, something could be accomplished within the next ten minutes.

     A combination of a groan and wheeze left her lips when Cara's body made a blunt impact with a rectangular glass table downstairs. Pieces of the broken railing spilled everywhere. The feeling of cold, smooth glass cutting against her body sent chills down her spine, and she hissed in pain.

     Broken shards of glass cut the side of her left cheek and through her crimson-stained blazer and pierced the bulletproof vest. A few pieces of glass also cut through the fabric of her white dress pants and tore at the skin on the sides of her thighs.

     Approximately ten feet away, Le was turning onto his side while holding his head. When they fell from the second floor, they'd landed on top of old furniture covered with tan bed sheets. Cara fell directly on a glass table, and Le dropped onto a couch and bounced off, successfully smacking his forehead on a wooden coffee table.

     Choking out a gasp, Cara reached for the back of her head. It felt like a thousand pins were piercing her skull all at once and that she'd been body-slammed. A few shards sliced against her hand, but she didn't wince— compared to everything else, that hardly hurt.

     "Fuck," she grumbled, squeezing her eyes shut. Upon re-opening them, she saw that her surroundings were insanely blurry. She blinked several times until everything came into focus, kind of. It was then that reality caught up to her, and she realized what happened and where she was.

     Get up. She needed to get up.

     Pushing off the ground, Cara stumbled backward as she got to her feet. Glass crunched under her loafers, and she unknowingly bumped into the couch Le bounced off of. Once she managed to find a balance, she reached for the back of her head. The muscles in her body were screaming for her to stop, but she didn't listen.

     The tips of her fingers brushed against her hair, and she grimaced. When she pulled her hand away, her eyes landed on a fresh puddle of blood that covered her fingers and trailed down her palm.

     Great. She likely cracked her skull.

     Well, it was worth it since Le was going to die tonight. It was a small price to pay for vengeance, retribution, and freedom.

     At the thought of Le's demise, Cara glanced up. However, she never spotted him, and their eyes never met, for she was promptly tackled.

     In the blink of an eye, Le collided his body with Cara's and pushed them into the couch. The weight of their impact caused the couch to tip over, and they fell with it. A resounding thud echoed, and they rolled across the stained carpet.

     Cara quickly caught herself and pressed her palms into the ground. Her head swayed when she came to an abrupt stop, and she blinked a couple of times, wiping blood out of her left eye.

     There was a blur of movement in her peripheral vision, and she saw Le crawling toward her. Before he could lay another hand on her, she quickly tucked herself into a forward roll and moved to the right. All that was left in her place was bloody handprints and a pool of blood.

     She jumped to her feet at the same time as Le and narrowed her eyes. Without hesitation, she swung her left foot up, and he grabbed it— just like she knew he would. The next few actions occurred within three seconds.

     At the same time, Cara twisted her body to the left and swung her right leg up. Her right foot collided with the side of Le's face as her body turned, effectively bringing them to the ground.

     The impact of her body landing so harshly on the floor echoed, and a stinging pain spread throughout. It felt like her entire front side had been slapped with a massive flat brick, leaving her burned and hurt. Regardless, she ignored it and breathlessly stood up again. She couldn't afford to stay stationary and sitting.

     On the carpet, Le was holding his head and groaning.

     Cara brought her knee up, and the bottom of her loafer struck him in the face— specifically his nose. A sense of satisfaction filled her chest at the sound of bone cracking and Le grunting. He was sent onto his back at the force of the blow.

     Cara inched away and placed some distance between them. She stood on the other side of the couch near the glass table she'd fallen on and broken. Heavy breaths tumbled from her mouth as she panted, trying to gather herself. Time was finally slowing down.

     Gun. The other gun.

     Blinking several times, she tried to shake how disoriented she felt. The room was spinning just a tad. That was assumably due to blood loss.

     A burning sensation ignited in her left leg when she bent her knee to reach for the gun she had strapped to her calf underneath her pants. There was a click before she could touch the holster, and all color drained from her face.

     In unison, she placed her foot on the floor and looked up. Le was holding the stolen pistol and aiming it at her. Blood dribbled from his nose, and he wore the smile of a madman. His teeth were stained red, too.

     In her pursuit of trying to hurt him, Cara unintentionally gave him the last weapon she had to defend herself and what she intended to kill him with. When she kicked him and they both fell to the floor, he'd taken it.

     Goddammit. No.

     The sound of several sets of footsteps flooded the living room. It was almost deafening how loud they were. To Cara, everything had been dialed up to maximum volume. The adrenaline flowing through her nervous system, in combination with the blood loss and disorientation, had drastically skewed her senses, but it was slowly wearing off. Truthfully, all of the stab wounds, cuts, head injuries, and multiple blunt trauma impacts to her body were beginning to catch up.

     A dull ache took home in the back of her neck and head when she glanced over her shoulder. Cara's heart dropped. A sea of familiar faces were entering the room, coming to her rescue. Well, at least they probably thought they were.

     No, no, no.

     Cara knew she should've felt relief at the sight of the BAU, but she didn't. Instead, she felt the opposite.

     Dread.

     It was dread— all that she felt.

     Aghast.

     The entire team was aghast at the sight before them.

     So this is what the worst-case scenario looked like.

     In quick succession, they formed a wide, half-circle near the living room's entrance and stood behind Cara. About six feet separated each team member. All of them still had their weapons drawn and aimed at Le. Then, they took in the catastrophic scene before them.

     Aside from when she was in the hospital years ago, this was the worst the team had seen Cara in terms of physical appearance. For a few members, this was the worst they'd ever seen her.

     The all-white blazer, tank top, pants, and bulletproof vest she wore were torn and painted a dark crimson with small shards of glass sticking to them. It was hard to tell at first, but the pieces glittered in the fluorescent lights and caught people's eyes. Thin stripes of red ran down the sides of her thighs. On her right arm, a tear in the sleeve of her blazer revealed a long and bleeding jagged gash. No white fabric was left unstained.

     Cara's face was unnaturally pale, while her cheeks were light pink with several trails of dried blood running down. A cut was on her left cheek. There was a purple and blue bruise on her temple and beside her left eyebrow— which was split open. There was a gash on her forehead and drying blood that trailed down the left side of her face, and it mixed with the blood from the split eyebrow. The right side of her face had blood running down it, but it didn't appear to be from an injury— it was likely Le's. Her bottom lip was busted and bright red. Dry blood was faintly smeared across her right cheek from where she'd presumably wiped her mouth. The back of her head was bleeding, and the blood was seeping into her platinum-blonde hair, making it stand out even more. Droplets gradually dripped from her hair onto the back of her blazer, running downward.

     There were light hand-shaped bruises on her neck with a stab wound located near her collarbone. Lastly, her hands were caked red and shaking, causing blood to fall from her fingertips and land on the carpet. Her knuckles were bruised, and glimpses of purple were visible when she balled her hands into fists.

     As for Le... This was the team's first time meeting and seeing the infamous man in person.

     Images can be deceiving.

     Many people know that not everybody looks identical in person compared to images of them. Sometimes, that is due to lighting, odd angles, and lens distortions; other times, it's because a photo has been intentionally altered. Either way, not everyone looks identical to the pictures of themselves.

     Pictures are a reflection, a brief moment in time, but they will never measure up to the real person. Pictures only provide a 2-D version of people.

     Then, there are times when people look identical in person to the images taken of them. These times are few and far because society tends to pick up on a person's visual flaws and contrasts. Thus, when it happens, it's noticeable.

     Tonight was one of those far-and-few-between times.

     Quang Vinh Thang Le, known as Michael Le, looked identical to how he did in every known image of him. There were a few changes, but overall... he looked identical. It was unnerving despite the injuries and blood on him.

     The Asian Hispanic man had naturally aged and was older, and his physical appearance showed that. His face was wide, and a few wrinkles were visible. His black hair was still short but had a few streaks of grey here and there. It was no longer styled in its signature quiff. Instead, it was disheveled and not styled. A few pieces were glued to his forehead with sweat and blood. His polarizing, narrow green eyes hadn't changed, and neither had that gleeful grin that spread from ear to ear. As for his body, he was in shape and physically fit like Matt and Spencer predicted.

     Regarding his injuries, it was difficult to distinguish who was in a worse condition: Le or Cara.

     Le was equally as bloody. There was an open wound on his forehead, and dry blood decorated the sides of his face near his hairline. His nose was broken and bent to the right, with blood seeping from it. Below that, his lip was busted and coated in a dark, glossy crimson. Both of his cheeks were purple and bruised, but his left was significantly darker, showing he'd been hit there more. Similar to Cara, he had hand-shaped bruises on his neck. There was one stab wound on his left arm, with two on the right. His hands were bruised and bloody. Lastly, as the team already knew, his right ear was gone. It was the biggest source of blood loss and was disgusting to see.

     Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, and JJ's hearts stopped at the sight.

     Self-defense. It could be written off as self-defense if Lieutenant Belanger allowed it or if Cara verified it was.

     Aside from separating Cara and Le and de-escalating the situation, an unspoken goal was to keep Cara from doing anything further to wind up in jail or prison.

     Matt and Luke were hyperfixated on Le's every move, and Blake and Tara silently surveyed the room, piecing together what had occurred. Meanwhile, Spencer was rushing toward Cara.

     "Get back, get back!" Cara shouted, rapidly motioning for them to get away— motioning for Spencer to get away.

     Spencer's jaw slackened, and he darted his eyes between Cara and Le. She couldn't be serious... Both of them were significantly hurt and required medical attention. Well, frankly, Le could bleed out from his injuries. All Spencer cared about was Cara's well-being and ensuring she made it out of this alive.

     "Please..." Cara whispered, staring at her boyfriend pleadingly. There were unshed tears in her eyes. It was difficult to deduce whether it was from the undeniable pain she was in or due to the mere thought of Le hurting Spencer. "Get back."

     "No," Spencer replied, matching the volume of her voice. "I'm not leaving you."

     Swallowing harshly, she shook her head the tiniest bit. "He will kill you—"

      "I don't care. He's already tried to kill you."

     Without warning, the wall approximately fifteen feet to Cara's right was shot. The loud and unexpected noise made her flinch, and she instinctually curled her hands into fists.

     Immediately, Lieutenant Belanger's voice carried through the team's comm system: "We're coming in."

     "No. Do not come in. I repeat, do not come in. Nobody's hurt. Give us time to de-escalate," Hotch spoke into his microphone, not once looking away from the stand-off.

     "Hotchner—"

     Rossi was quick to interrupt. "Lieutenant, give us a few minutes. I know you don't want this to end with someone dying. If you come in, that might become a reality."

     "We'll let you know when to come in. Trust us," Hotch added, letting go of the button on his earpiece.

     "You're pushing it, Hotchner. You have seven minutes left."

     Suddenly, Le shouted, "You heard her! GET BACK! This does not involve you!"

     Cara was still staring at Spencer, silently pleading with her eyes for him to step away. "Spen, please," she whispered, uncurling her fists, and the action made more blood fall from her fingers.

     Spencer subconsciously clenched his jaw and narrowed his watery eyes. He inhaled sharply. Fine. Ultimately, he listened and took ten steps backward. He wasn't happy about it. A couple of the veins in his neck were visibly prominent.

     "Cara, get behind me," Rossi said, nodding for her to come closer. About twenty to thirty feet separated her from all the team members.

     There was no hesitation in the woman's response. "No. No. It's fine." If she complied, Le would lose focus on her and take his anger out of the team, and she would do whatever it took to avoid that. This didn't involve her friends; they didn't need or deserve to become casualties in her war with Le. They shouldn't even be there. "I'm—"

     "NO!" Le shouted, taking a step forward. Immediately, everybody quieted down. "You do not answer them, Clementine!"

     A deadly glare took over Cara's face, and she slowly turned her head to the left. Her mouth was shut, and she didn't make a noise.

     Behind her, Luke, Tara, and Matt couldn't help but wonder if Cara's compliance with Le was a trauma response. If it were, it'd make sense.

     "This is between us," he hissed, gesturing from himself to her with the gun. "We're finishing our conversation."

     Unable to help herself, Cara rolled her eyes. "Which one? The one about my being ungrateful or how you groomed a child and expected the unspeakable?!" she exclaimed, taking a step forward, too.

     This back and forth was old. It felt like all she was doing was arguing with a brick wall, which was infuriating. Nothing she said would ever get through to him. She knew this. Le would never see what he'd done as wrong.

     "You were asking for it!" Le yelled, his eyes glowing with rage.

     Cara's head reeled back an inch, and she scoffed. Wow. Wow, wow, wow. That was the funniest and most offensive thing he'd ever said to her.

     "Are you fucking— I WAS ELEVEN!" she screamed, pointing at herself.

     The sound of her voice echoed throughout the mansion. This was the team's first time hearing Cara raise her voice above a gentle or annoyed shout. Even then, she didn't speak loudly. The only time she'd gotten close to screaming like this was earlier that night when Morgan dragged her away from Owen's corpse.

     There were plenty of times when screaming, yelling, or shouting was valid and expected, but she never had— not really— not until now.

     Everyone was profoundly quiet. They had never heard the woman speak with such force, aggression, and sadness.

     "And you took away the only innocence I had left! You took advantage of a child who considered you a friend!"

     Le laughed and shook his head. "Don't stand there and act all high and mighty," he spat, taking in her beaten and bloodied figure. He inched closer and jabbed the gun in her direction. "You enjoyed it."

     Eyebrows raising exceedingly high, Cara choked out a laugh. "You fucking wish," she said, turning her hand and pointing at him. "I never enjoyed a single thing you did to me. I was rendered useless. More than half the time, I couldn't fight back, and that doesn't mean I enjoyed it."

     JJ's eyes darted between the two as she noticed the diminishing distance. She shared a look with Luke and Tara.

     They weren't the only ones who noticed, though. Everyone had.

     "Le, drop the gun!" Hotch yelled, growing uneasier the longer the conversation carried out.

     Less than twenty feet separated the pair now.

     "Don't lie to me, Clementine," Le seethed, dropping one of his hands and aiming the weapon directly at her.

     All this conversation was doing was strengthening his beliefs about her and their relationship. She was too in denial about her feelings for him. Owen had manipulated Cara into believing their dynamic was wrong, and that belief didn't change when she joined the F.B.I. Le tried convincing her otherwise during captivity, and it appeared he would have to again.

     "Le, stand down!" Rossi shouted, trying not to show a twinge of panic. "Drop the gun and surrender!"

     Not to anyone's surprise, Le did neither.

     So, the team held onto their guns tighter and straightened their posture. They were readying themselves for anything.

     "Unlike most people, you know when I'm lying," Cara said, holding her hand behind her, signaling to everyone that she had this. The gun directed at her meant nothing. She was unphased. "You know my tells. Hell, I learned them from you!"

     Le's lips quirked up at the compliment. At least she was admitting something to him— that was progress. Perhaps she would admit that she behaved ungratefully next.

     "We both know I have not told you a single fucking lie tonight," Cara stated, narrowing her eyes. "If you truly believe that, though, go ahead. Do as you please; you have my entire life so why not in our final moments?"

     Our final moments.

     Our final moments.

     An invisible force tugged at the left corner of Le's lips.

     Eighteen years ago, he and Cara were separated for the first time. Their final moments making love had been interrupted by Ross Valentine and his terrible timing. Back then, it was one of the worst days of Le's life, alongside the day his brother died.

     Bright, crimson blood leaked from Le's nose and was dripping onto Cara's slightly bruised neck and bare chest. His teeth were barred and he was seething with anger. The punch to the nose was the final straw. If she was going to keep interrupting their moment with violence, he might as well do the same. It wasn't like he hadn't dozens of times before.

     Both of his hands traveled from her thighs to her hips, waist, and breasts, and landed on her neck. His palms pressed against either side, and his fingers wrapped around her throat. Rather than doing it slowly, he automatically tightened his grip.

     Cara gasped and involuntarily squeezed her eyes shut. Tears burned the back of her eyelids. It felt like all of Le's weight was being put on her throat while his pace didn't slow down or ease up.

     Instinctually, her hands flew up and wrapped over his. Her nails dug into his skin, desperately clawing and tearing at it. Black dots entered her vision, and the raspy sputter for air morphed into dry wheezes.

     After three seconds, her hands slid off Le's and landed on the bed. An icy pain snaked around her neck, and everything began to fade into darkness.

     Then, an abundance of light overtook everything, and Cara was coughing forcefully. Her chest and ribcage shook at the sharp inhales and exhales she took. The force of the coughs was so strong that she rolled onto the right side of her body. Excess saliva left her mouth, and she felt like she would throw up.

     It was then that Cara realized Le was no longer inside of her, and he wasn't pinning her down anymore. She was free from his touch. She was free.

     The sound of punches being thrown reached her ears, and she blinked away the tears. An aching pain was at the back of her neck as she looked up.

     All the lights in her father's room were turned on, and he'd returned home simultaneously at the worst and best time. It appeared he walked in on Le raping Cara. That was the only plausible explanation. Otherwise, Ross Valentine wouldn't be beating the living shit out of Le.

     "YOU'RE NEVER GOING TO TOUCH MY DAUGHTER AGAIN! YOU VILE—"

     "SHE WANTED IT! SHE LOVES IT!"

     Those last three words played on a loop in Le's head, and he smirked.

     A trickling river of dread and shame flowed down Cara's backside at the emerging expression on Le's face. She blanched. It didn't take a genius to know what he was doing— what he was thinking about.

     Of course, he took her words and ran all the way to the past with them. Of course.

     "Lyn. LYN!" Owen shouted, rushing into the bedroom with Hennessy and Kirk following shortly behind.

     The moment the three of them received Ross's furious phone call, they dropped everything and drove like hell to the Valentine home. Luckily, they arrived before Ross couldn't hold himself back any longer and beat Le to death.

     In the far right corner of Ross's bedroom, near the entrance to the master bathroom, sat Cara. She wore her father's leather jacket that he'd given her and had a blanket covering the rest of her body. Her knees were pulled to her chest, and her arms were wrapped around them. The skin around her eyes was red and puffy.

     Owen dropped to the floor in front of her and swallowed harshly. His pupils were wide with concern, and he was frantically scanning her body, trying to spot any injuries or bruising. All he found was light purple handprints on her neck with speckles of dried blood. Ross's leather jacket and the blanket covered everything else. Presumably, she had nothing on underneath.

     "Hey, I'm here. I'm here," he breathed, catching her eye. Bright, glistening tears stared at him, and he clenched his jaw. He'd had enough. The relationship between her and Le ended today. It should have ended years ago— truthfully, it should have never started in the first place— but it was truly over now that Ross had witnessed it with his own eyes. There was no way Michael Le would ever touch Cara again.

      Another set of footsteps approached, and Cara glanced from Owen to Kirk. The world blurred more. Her face twisted in embarrassment, and she shook her head.

     There was nothing to say. She didn't know what to say or do.

     Kirk frowned. "I'm sorry, Car..."

     She didn't respond. She couldn't.

     "Son... Owen..." Hennessy called from where he stood next to Ross. The engaged couple was holding an unconscious, bloodied, and beaten version of Le. Each wanted to kill Le for what he'd done, but they didn't. The number one priority was getting him off the property, away from Cara. "Take Cara to her room."

     Both of the teenage boys nodded.

     "Owen, stay with her," Ross instructed, nodding toward his daughter. Right away, tears rose at the sight of Cara lightly shaking and crying. Today should have never happened. "Take care of her; do whatever she says and get whatever she needs. Kirk, once she's in her room, meet us downstairs."

     The boys nodded again.

     "Got it, R," Kirk said, giving the man a curt nod.

     Owen forced a watery and reassuring smile. "I'll stay with her. I promise."

     Cara inhaled deeply at the memory and pushed it aside. All it did was remind her of the trauma she went through and the utter embarrassment she'd felt from her father, Hennessy, and Kirk seeing her like that. Back then, she didn't care if Owen saw that side of her. He'd seen it enough times, and he was her safe space.

     However, all the memory did for Le was fill him with nostalgia for the good ol' days.

     Wait... That could be used against him.

     If Cara played into the fantasy and took on the role she submitted to as a child and teenager... perhaps she could talk him down. After all, the team was present, and her previous intentions and goals couldn't be met— at least not with them as witnesses or becoming victims. The only option was to calm him down and have him arrested.

     This was her window of opportunity to exploit and disarm him.

     "You're thinking back to that night, too, right?"

     In the background, the team exchanged discrete glances. Nobody knew what she was referencing.

     Le's facial features twisted into a wistful expression, and he smiled sweetly. "How could I forget the night I first lost you?" The smile grew when she took a step toward him.

     You didn't lose me. You just temporarily lost access to me.

     "Do you remember everything?"

     Cara devoured the bile climbing up her throat. "How could I not?" she asked, shrugging gently.

     The smile became a maniacal grin.

     Darting his line of sight between the two, Spencer shifted uncomfortably. Deep down, he knew what they were talking about. He also knew that Cara was taking advantage of Le's soft spot for her and their history.

     Hotch and Rossi realized the same.

     Perhaps the team didn't need to convince Cara or attempt to have her cooperate with them. Perhaps she had a better hold on this situation than they initially believed. Or perhaps she was deceiving them again.

     That final thought sent a shiver of fear down Spencer's spine. He prayed that wasn't the case and the manipulation was done. However, he understood that Cara only resorted to it to get what she wanted— Le dead or in handcuffs. Outside of that, he knew her and that she would never go out of her way to lie to, manipulate, or deceive him or the team. That's not who she was.

     "Can I come closer?"

     Morgan's eyebrows raised, and he looked at Spencer. "Is she—"

     "Of course."

     Everyone watched the blonde take three steps forward. She was still holding her hand behind her, signaling that she had this. But did she?

     Nobody heard the next few sentences exchanged. All the team understood was that Cara successfully made her way to Le and was standing in front of him. The two were talking, but their voices were hushed.

     Hotch and Rossi tensed when Cara dropped her hand and held it out to Le instead.

     To the team's surprise, Le lowered his arm and the gun. A soft and adoring expression was painted on his face as he stared at Cara, almost mesmerized by whatever she was saying. It seemed like whatever Cara was doing was working.

     For now, at least.

     Cara kept her composure and didn't show signs of relief. She wasn't done yet.

     "Michael..." Her fingers wrapped around the gun, and she tugged it toward her gently. The tone in which she said his name caused Le to loosen his grip. "Give it to me," she whispered, stomach clenching when he cupped her face. "Trust me. Please." His thumb ran over her cheek, and she fought the urge to pull back.

     "I love you," Le muttered sincerely, still holding the weapon. Silence answered him, and his eyes narrowed into slits. "Say it back." His voice was quiet while his tone was menacing and cold, and she almost flinched. He was warning her that he wouldn't back down if she didn't say it.

     In his mind, there were no other options. Cara had to say and mean it. If she said it, there was definitive hope, and she was his more than ever. Owen Sánchez was no more. All threats had been eliminated from the playing field. The F.B.I. meant nothing. Spencer Reid's existence and presence meant nothing. Le knew there was no way Cara had said those three words to Spencer.

     "I-I..." Cara swallowed harshly, feeling like she was about to be sick. It'd been eleven years since she'd uttered those words to anybody. The prospect of saying them felt wrong— like a sin.

     The phrase felt foreign and sinful, leaving her tongue even though she'd only managed to choke out, "I." It felt like a stab to the gut, considering who she was saying it to. That didn't matter, though. She didn't have a choice if she wanted this to go her way.

     The team was waiting with bated breath for someone to do or say something. No one heard Le's sentiment and demand. No one knew what was being said or asked of Cara.

     It took everything in Cara to ignore the pit in her chest and the nausea she felt. It took everything she had to spit out, "I love you, too."

     To the team's credit, they all caught on and knew what to do.

     It was obvious that Cara didn't mean a single syllable in those four words. It sounded like she was choking on her own breath to utter them. Everyone also understood how terribly this would escalate if Le didn't believe her. So, the team needed to overreact.

     JJ and Blake's eyes widened, and Tara let out a tiny gasp, her lips parting.

     Luke and Morgan furrowed their eyebrows and darted their stare between Cara and Spencer incredulously.

     Matt frowned and looked at Spencer, feigning sympathy.

     Rossi's jaw dropped, and he repeatedly opened and closed his mouth. Hotch simply stifled a sigh and didn't change his stance.

     Le clocked everybody's reaction and took those into account when he glanced back at Cara. A warm feeling of comfort spread across his chest, yet there was a sliver of doubt.

     There was something about how Cara said "too" that didn't settle well with him. There was something about how she was staring at him like he was worth a million bucks, yet there was no light or genuine happiness in her eyes. More than anything, though, there was something to be said about how she clenched her jaw when she spoke— it was a way to fight the innate behavior of her ears rising slightly, which was her tell.

     After all, as she stated earlier, she learned her tells from him. Whenever Le lied, his ears raised slightly. Whenever Cara lied, her ears raised slightly. It wasn't easy to catch it, but it was light work for Le.

     She didn't love him. She was lying.

     Cara lied to Le.

     A sigh of indifference came from him, and Le took a step closer. That's all right. He rolled his shoulders back and sized her up. Then, without hesitation, he turned off the safety on the gun. A wide and sadistic smile spread across his lips, and he pulled the trigger.

     Cara heard the sound long before she felt the pain, but the team felt it immediately.

     A bullet tore through Cara's skin and drove into her left thigh. The white dress pants she wore turned a darker shade of crimson. Cara stumbled backward before doubling over in pain, gasping.

     Acting instinctually, Spencer lowered his weapon and moved to intercept, but Morgan held his arm out. Things could escalate if the genius entered the picture, and Cara might get shot again— this time in a more life-threatening area.

     Everything next happened very quickly.

     Adrenaline flowed through her veins, and Cara's chest heaved up and down laboriously. Both palms were pressed to her thigh, and she tried to stop some of the bleeding. Her hands were drowning in another flood of blood. Lifting her gaze, she glowered at the man in front of her.

     Once the two locked eyes, it was then they knew only one of them was going to walk away alive tonight. It was certain now. Le wasn't going to leave without her alive or dead, and Cara wasn't going to leave unless he was either gurgling in a pool of his own blood or locked in handcuffs.

     There were no other options. Not anymore.

     Hastily marching forward, Le grabbed Cara by the upper arm and hauled her away from the BAU. An unintentional yelp left her lips, and she winced at the stinging and pulverizing pain spreading along her leg. His grip was the harshest it'd been since captivity. It simultaneously felt foreign yet disturbingly familiar.

     "Le, let her go and drop the gun, or we'll be forced to shoot!" Morgan shouted, watching him spin Cara around to face the group.

     "You shoot me, I shoot her again!" Le yelled, slapping a hand over Cara's mouth and pressing the gun to her torso.

     Rossi narrowed his eyes as a wave of fury attacked his nervous system. "Le, drop the fucking weapon!"

     "Stand down!" Hotch ordered loudly, inching forward the tiniest bit.

     "Le..." JJ warned, aiming her gun higher. She'd be more than inclined to pull the trigger if she could get a clear shot of the man.

    Flittering her gaze to Spencer, Cara's vision blurred at the expression on his face. Nothing but complete terror and anxiety was present. However, it didn't last long for rage overcame it. In all the time she'd known him, Cara had never seen Spencer angry— at least not to this degree.

     "Clementine and I are leaving," Le stated with a tone of finality. If these agents wanted Cara to live, they had to let her and Le leave together. He wouldn't waste another day without her; it wasn't right for them to be apart for this long. After all, they had a whole future ahead of them; he planned it all out, and she would soon understand.

     "No, you're not!" Spencer snapped, trying to perfect the shot he had on the man. Unfortunately, Le was swaying him and Cara side to side, intentionally making it hard for someone to get a clear shot of him.

     Le shook his head and shifted the barrel of the gun so it pressed against Cara's ribcage. "Yes, we are! If you want— AH!" A cry of pain left his lips, and he yanked his hand away from Cara's mouth. His index and ring finger were bleeding— she'd bit his hand.

     Spitting out bits of skin and blood, Cara coughed. She went to run but was promptly stopped.

     Le brought his injured hand to her neck and raised the gun to her head. Cara tried to speak but was silenced when his fingers coiled around her throat. A sick smirk lined his face, and he harshly pressed the barrel to her temple.

     Luke and Matt's stomachs plummeted.

     Rossi's face dropped, and he blanched.

     Cara's breathing accelerated and grew shallow at his actions. His grip tightened. Flashes of her time in captivity played in her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

     No.

     This was not happening. Not again.

     Watching in horror, Spencer's face fell as he watched Le let go of the safety again.

     Was he about to watch another woman he loves die again?

     Luckily, her fight-flight-or-freeze instincts were kicking in, and Cara re-opened her eyes.

     Bringing her right arm down, she dug her elbow into Le's chest and knocked the wind out of him. Le lost a bit of balance, and she repeated the action. The hand holding her throat loosened, and she stomped on his right foot with hers. His fingers momentarily released her, and she took the chance to break free.

     Cara snatched the gun out of his hand and pushed away. She turned on her heel to face him, ignoring the shooting pain in her thigh. "Hands above your fucking head, or I swear to God, I'll shoot you dead myself," she growled, her stare hard and stern.

     All of the anger she felt towards the man in front of her came barrelling back at full force. It took everything not to pull the trigger and put a dead end to all of this. That'd been her original plan, but with the team there, she was hesitant. Part of her didn't want them to see her as a killer, while the latter didn't give a shit. If she killed Le, no one else would end up like Raine, Ace, her father, and Owen. On the other hand, if she wrongfully killed Le in the eyes of the law, she could go to prison and lose the family she created.

     It was both a difficult decision and not.

     Le raised an unconvinced brow, laughing loudly. "I will always have you wrapped around my finger, Clementine," he cooed, a sickly sweet grin taking over his features. He'd regained his balance and stepped forward. "If you wanted me dead, you—" He was cut off when a bullet flew past him, missing the left side of his head by only a hair.

     Perhaps it wasn't that hard of a decision, and law enforcement would consider the murder of Michael Le to be just and an act of community service.

     "I said HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD!" Cara shouted, her grip on the gun tightening after pulling the trigger.

     Again, after the sound of a shot being fired for a second time within a minute, Lieutenant Belanger's voice echoed throughout the team's comm system. "That's two shots—"

     "Lieutenant, nobody's hurt. Do not come in. I repeat, do not come in. We still have three minutes left," Hotch replied.

      "You're pushing it."

     Hotch huffed quietly, shaking his head slightly. "I know."

     Glancing at Morgan, JJ's eyes remained slightly wide as she saw that the woman's sudden shot somewhat took him aback, too. The last time the BAU saw her use a gun was during the BAU's field operation to save JJ from captivity years ago.

     "Le, you heard her!" Rossi yelled, watching a sick grin creep along Le's lips. He wasn't the only one who noticed. Spencer had, too, an inkling of what would happen next.

     "With the final round upon us, I have one last game to play," Le sang, his tone soft. This was his desperate attempt to stall until he came up with an escape plan— it was obvious. "Let's see if you're smart enough to leave or to stay."

     Cara's blood ran cold, and she blanched. However, unlike how she might've reacted in the past, she didn't falter or waver.

     She was no longer afraid of him like she used to be. Michael Le was merely a man who possessed zero good or outstanding qualities. He was abnormal at best. At worst, he was the Devil whose past reputation never painted an accurate picture of him.

     Meanwhile, everyone else was silent and still. None had witnessed or participated in Michael Le's theatrical mind games. Of course, they knew about them, but witness or hear?

     Never.

     Besides Cara, who'd lived with Le's games all her life and fell for the illusions he concocted, nobody knew what to expect. When the Founding Fathers held her, the line between reality and fantasy was so blurred that she couldn't tell left from right— let alone Le's illusions from the truth.

     Now, however, she'd healed and grown. She knew how to handle this better. She was angry now. The fear was long gone.

     "Life's a chessboard where you can win or lose; you can play fair, or you can bend the rules. If it gets too hard, you can end the game or make it work through all the pain."

     Rolling her eyes, she held back a scoff. "Yeah, we're not doing this," she said, shaking her head with disgust. "I stopped playing that game with you a long time ago. Put your goddamn hands above your head, Le."

     Instead of listening, Le's grin grew, and he stepped backward. "I've set the board, and the lines are drawn; there's a king and queen, knight and pawn." He side-eyed the F.B.I. agents. "The pieces can act, and moves can be made; with skill and thought, the game can be played. There are two masters in command, each with a strategy carefully planned. They battle forever—" he gestured from himself to Cara, "—with mind and might, and both engage in a far-flung fight."

     "Quit with the theatrics and surrender!" Spencer shouted, inching forward. "You're surrounded, Le!"

     Cara and Le were locked in a staring contest. Unlike the ones she used to have with Owen, Cara knew her odds of winning were fifty-fifty. Le was the one who taught her never to break eye contact as a child— it was a sign of disrespect.

     "Le..." Blake, Tara, and Matt called.

     "One last game, just like the start..." Le said, wetting his lips and continuing to stare Cara down. He ignored the team. "One last game before our world falls apart."

     Cara inhaled sharply. "No."

     A frown crossed Le's face, and his eyes narrowed. "I walk a mile, you walk a minute, pushing our love past its limit. We could be the King and Queen if only you shared my dream."

     Again, she replied, "No. Hands up."

     "One last game, what do you say?" Le asked, raising an eyebrow.

     What do I say? Fuck this, and fuck you.

     It was useless to entertain this man and his delusions or engage with him. This ended now.

     So, Cara's response was automatic.

     "Only one of us will have the privilege of death, and I'm happy to say that it won't be I left with one last breath," she recited, watching his entire demeanor change.

     Chills snaked down the group's spine. Nobody had expected her to play.

     Le's lips innately curled upward, and his cheeks reddened. A satisfying sense of gratification swelled in his chest. She finally played.

     And she remembered a past statement of his word for word.

     It took a moment for the double entendre to dawn on the man. When it did, his smirk dropped, and he clenched his jaw. All color faded from his face.

     How dare she use his words against him for her first move...

     Le was scarily still as his dark and hollow green eyes stared into Cara's deep ocean-blue ones. Breathing in deeply, he took a step back, creating a distance between them that allowed the team to breathe a little lighter.

     What nobody knew was that, like Cara, Le had strapped a gun to his calf underneath his jeans. It'd been sitting there all this time as his final backup plan. If all else failed tonight... If he couldn't leave with Cara, have her back, and be with her... nobody could, and nobody would.

     Le's head tilted to the right, and he reached down. Everybody's eyes followed his movements. He bent his leg and reached for something.

     Nobody hesitated to act the instant they saw Le pull out a gun.

     In unplanned unison, Cara and the team pulled the trigger on their guns, and so did Le.

     The living room and first floor of the mansion were filled with the sound of multiple gunshots. It was nearly deafening and alerted all those who were waiting outside. It was also overwhelming to witness and take part in.

     Everything happened so fast the team didn't know who or what Le's bullet hit until Cara collapsed.

     The bullet from Le's gun struck Cara in the right shoulder, and she involuntarily jerked back. A gasp fell from her lips, and she toppled to the ground at the force of the hit. The gun she held clattered to the floor. She grasped onto her arm in pain, watching blood leak through her fingers for what seemed to be the tenth time that night.

     There was a high-pitched ringing in her ears, so she missed a loud thud. Her vision was blurry and she blinked away some of the disorientation.

     Le. Shit.

     Cara shakily raised her head, and her eyes eventually found him. He'd dropped to the ground and was lying flat on his back. His arms and legs were sprawled out, yet she couldn't see his face or where he'd been shot.

     Suddenly, someone's arms wrapped around her and she felt whoever it was hold her from behind. A kiss was placed on the top of her head. It took her a second to realize Spencer was cradling her.

     Everything was still ringing, and she felt light-headed. People were speaking, but their voices sounded lightyears away; she couldn't decipher a word. She was in temporary shock.

     Rossi crouched in front of her and his mouth was moving, but she wasn't there mentally. Hotch and Matt stood behind him; Matt was talking while Hotch shouted into the group's comm system. Blake was with them, but her mouth wasn't moving. Instead, she was giving Cara space while Morgan, JJ, Luke, and Tara were carefully walking over to Le.

     Despite the world moving around her and demanding she pay attention, Cara couldn't. She couldn't focus on anything but Le's unmoving frame.

     Was he dead or not?

     She needed to know.

     Cara's body moved with a mind of its own. She pulled away from Spencer's touch and placed her hand on the carpet. A sharp and hot flare of pain was sent up her arm and thigh, but she didn't acknowledge or react to it. Her nails dug into the fabric, and she shifted all her weight to the right side of her body as she stood up.

     For a split second, her vision blacked out when she got to her feet. She swayed side-to-side and blinked rapidly. Someone steadied her by putting a hand on her left shoulder and the small of her back, but she didn't notice. The persistent blood loss and injuries were going to cause her to pass out— she knew they would. So, this needed to be quick before she lost consciousness.

     Again, she shrugged off Spencer's touch and limped as fast as she could to where Le lay. Once she was looming over him, all the tension in her shoulders disappeared, and she let out a heavy breath of relief.

     A total of seven bullet holes were scattered across his forehead and head, and there were three in the center of his chest.

     Cara's legs gave out under her, and she crawled to Le's side. With a trembling hand, she pressed her index and middle finger together and checked his pulse. A lump rose in her throat.

     Nothing.

     There was absolutely nothing.

     An overwhelming sense of peace and relief ran over her.

     It was over.

     It was really over.

     Cara choked out a sob. "H-He's dead," she said to no one in particular. "He's dead."

     "He is," a voice spoke, and she glanced to see Spencer sitting beside her. The ringing faded away. He rested a hand on her back, not minding the blood. "He will never hurt you again."

     Cara's tearful eyes darted between his, and she noticed that his were glossed over. A mixture of relief, adoration, and gratefulness was in them. Above all, though, they were full of pride for her, and she recognized that. A small and innate smile tugged at her lips.

     "It's over."

     Spencer mirrored her smile. "For good," he reassured her, rubbing her upper back.

     At his words, Cara's line of sight fell back on Le. A part of her was still in shock. It took decades, but she was finally free from the person at the center of all her chaos; she was rid of the bloodstain that was Michael Le.

     Cara Valentine was free.

𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆   ───   ❪ CRIMINAL MINDS ❫
vol. two:     𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚂𝚂,       ²
╱ ✹    ▬▬     ❛ © CARDIIAC      2024. ❜
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𓄹 ━━━ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓! ࿐ ໋₊ ˖

     hey everyone!! i hope you all enjoyed the sixtieth chapter!

     (special graphics for the final chapter before the epilogue + special author note gif banner compilation of short-haired cara as a treat <3)

     ANDDDD ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST!!!! good riddance, michael le. it was about time the fucker died, bless.

     btw i love morally grey characters— heyyyyyy cara valentine!!! we support women's rights and wrongs in this book.

     did anyone see that flashback coming?? i love the inclusion of it and how ross, owen, kirk, and hennessy made one final appearance in the story. the flashback shows a side of the characters (minus cara) that hasn't been shown/seen before. i do want to mention that the point of the flashback isn't to redeem ross, owen, kirk, or hennessy. each of them has their faults (some more than others aka the lu family) and are, overall, shitty/terrible/irredeemable people (especially the lu family). the point of the flashback is to provide further insight into cara and le's story and to show how it has played into what is presently happening in this chapter.

     anyway!

     this chapter took so much longer to finish and publish than anticipated. life has been life, and i hadn't gotten around to finishing this chapter for a while. thankfully, i did, and i hope everyone likes it!

     moving on... i'm very excited about the epilogue! it's going to be much longer than i anticipated and i hope to have it out before the end of june. i want to ensure the epilogue is perfect and wraps up cara's story well. it's very important to me that i do right by these characters.

     (if there is anything specific y'all want to see or would like included, please let me know! comment here! i'm open to ideas and suggestions.)

     until then, thank you for reading, and stay safe! <3

     ★ CREDIT: a few of the rhymes michael le says to cara toward the end of this chapter are inspired and paraphrased from a poem titled ❛ the game ❜ ━━ by an anonymous user on once upon a rhyme and from an archived poem titled ❛ poem on chess game ❜ ━━ by Hellochess987 on lichess. all credit goes to them. i was also inspired by various other poems i found online by talented artists/writers.

     edit time ━━ a final edit for the final chapter before the epilogue!

     meme time ━━ i will always be a whore for caralyn rosan valentine.

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˒⠀𝑹𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹. . . ▬⠀⤸

Thank you all for taking the time out of your day to comment on this story. It means a lot and helps the story be spread to a broader audience &&& allows me to grow as an author. All I ask is that people vote on each chapter, please. As a creator, it takes time to write and develop stories. Especially ones such as this that take a while to write and dedicate time to. So please, vote on every chapter. It means a lot more than I could ever express.

Don't forget to vote & comment!

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˒⠀𝑪𝑶𝑷𝒀𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻. . . ▬⠀⤸

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