Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You’ve only ever heard the stories of the past. Passed down like fairy tales, their content anything but.

You pride yourself on rebuilding.

You’re like a phoenix, rising from the ashes.

You trace a finger along the paper. Numbers, dates, locations fill it. You pick up your pencil and sketch a quick drawing of a snake. A cobra, to be more precise.

Your new symbols.

The snake and the phoenix.

One rebuilds. One starts new.

Chapter Text

The Colorado house was the definition of chaos. Ever since the publicity of our most recent case, dealing with a murderous cult, had started to die down, the house had gone quiet before we all collectively remembered that wasn’t the end of everything. There were still unsolved cases. New ones popped up almost every day. And if there were two things the Naturals, capital N , were good at, they were solving cases and creating chaos.

Explosions in the basement were more frequent. Judd had had the basement soundproofed, but that didn’t change the fact that our statistician, Sloane, came up from the basement every day with noticeably absent safety goggles and messy hair. Lia, the resident lie detector, entertained herself by poking fun at us⎼⎼and escalating into jabs if one of us seemed too worried or upset. Michael kept himself busy by using his talent as an emotion reader to decipher what actors were really feeling during certain scenes in shows or movies, and almost always let us know what was going on. Celine, Michael’s half sister with a natural talent for recognizing faces and bone structure, had drawn us all at least five times until she’d resorted to spending her time in the basement with Sloane. And Dean and I, the two profilers, repeatedly submerged ourselves in unsolved cases.

Dean and I walked into the kitchen. FBI Director Tanner Briggs, known to us more commonly as just Briggs, acknowledged our entrance with a nod. “Cassie. Dean. Do you know where the rest of the team is?”

“A case?” I guessed instantly.

Briggs never let himself show too much emotion, which was part of why Michael loved to decipher his feelings so much. He didn’t react to my guess. “Just find them.”

Definitely a case.

The Naturals had been allowed to work on active cases for almost a year now, but that didn’t mean we always did. Briggs and Agent Sterling were typically hesitant to bring us directly into a case, even if we could solve it quickly.

Michael was easiest to find. He was in the living room, watching TV. With a smirk, he glanced over his shoulder at us. “Well, well, well. Look who it is. Have you come to witness the incredible scene where Kacey and Jeremiah confess their love for each other, despite both hating the other’s guts in real life?”

“No, we have not,” Dean told him.

“Briggs wants us,” I clarified.

“A case?” Michael asked.

“He wouldn’t say,” I admitted. “But probably.”

Michael was on his feet in an instant. “Yes, of course I’ll oblige in reading his emotions for you to help decipher this mystery. Reluctantly, of course. You know I absolutely hate doing that.”

We left.

Dean ventured up to the roof to look for Lia, while I went down to the basement to find Sloane and Celine. Naturally, an explosion greeted me before I was even halfway down the stairs. Sloane used exploding things as a form of relaxation. I stepped off the last stair to find a bathroom scene completely demolished. 

“Watch where you step,” Celine advised. “The tiles broke more than we thought they would.”

Sloane frowned. “I estimated there was an eleven-point-three percent chance they would fly everywhere.”

“And they did,” Celine pointed out. She leaned back slightly. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing,” Sloane replied defensively.

“Come on,” Celine insisted. “Let me look at that.”

I cleared my throat. “You probably should. Briggs wants us.”

Sloane’s blue eyes widened slightly. “A case?”

“Probably.”

Celine tore off a strip of fabric from the bottom of her T-shirt and pressed it against Sloane’s arm, which had most likely gotten scraped from an airborne floor tile. Accidents like that happened all the time in the basement, especially when Sloane was preoccupied or worried about something. “I’m guessing he didn’t say?”

“He did not.”

Celine straightened and glanced at Sloane with a small sigh. “Guess we’d better go find out.”

By the time we got to the kitchen, Sterling had joined Briggs, Michael was looking rather pleased with himself, and Dean and Lia had claimed chairs at the table. More accurately, Dean had claimed a chair, while Lia was perched on the countertop.

“We have a case.” Sterling always started briefings the same way, calm and collected. 

“I knew it,” Michael stage-whispered.

Sterling ignored him. “Three bodies in three days. Today’s day four.”

A dizzying sense of dejá vù hit me. “Like the Vegas case?” I asked. Memories rolled over me, and I forced them away. My gaze slid over to Sloane. “I thought we⎼⎼”

“⎼⎼eliminated that threat?” Sterling finished. She was a profiler, like Dean and I, making it easy for her to answer questions before we asked them. “So did we.”

“They’re back?” Sloane whispered, her face pale.

“That’s certainly what it looks like,” Briggs agreed. “Someone⎼⎼or multiple someone’s⎼⎼appears to be attempting to rebuild the cult.”

“Exactly the same?” Dean asked, his hand creeping towards mine as I went to stand behind his chair. “Or slightly different?”

“Our UNSUB isn’t following the pattern of specific dates,” Sterling explained. “These past three days haven’t been Fibonacci dates, although they are following the pattern according to number of days so far.”

“What about the method?” I asked. “Is that the same?”

“It is,” Briggs confirmed. “Our UNSUB is using a different method than those of the cult, though.”

“Drowning, burning, impaling, strangling, knifing, beating, poisoning,” Sloane whispered under her breath. 

“What else is there?” Celine asked, her brows furrowed.

Dean answered before I could. “Shooting. Our UNSUB is killing people with a gun.” He glanced at Briggs and Sterling for confirmation. They both nodded.

“That’s unique,” Lia commented lazily.

“So he is building it slightly differently,” I interpreted. “Eight methods of killing, instead of seven.”

“And the dates don’t correspond,” Sloane chimed in.

Sterling laid three files on the table. “First victim was a male, age twenty-five. Second was a female, age twenty-four. Third was a male, age twenty-three. We’re suspecting a female, age twenty-two as the next victim.”

“He’s decreasing in age,” Michael pointed out. “And alternating genders.”

Sloane tapped her fingers against her thigh, no doubt running through the pattern in her head. “If the killer is going to kill nine people, and continues with the previously established pattern, his run ends with a female, age seventeen.”

Everyone fell silent. There were two seventeen-year-old females standing in the kitchen.

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” Sterling said after a long pause. “If this is our UNSUB’s pattern, the chances are high he’ll stick to it.”

I half expected Sloane to chime in with the exact chance, but she stayed silent.

“Are we on this case?” Lia asked, leaning forward. “Or are you just telling us about it for funsies?”

“Please never say that again,” Dean told her.

“What, funsies?”

“Yes, you’re on this case,” Briggs interrupted. “But Judd has the authority to pull you off if it’s getting too dangerous.”

“Have you gotten the fourth body yet?” I asked.

Sterling shook her head. “We’re expecting a call any minute.”

“Can we go with you to check it out?” Lia pressed. 

“We’ll have to clear it first,” Briggs decided. “If it’s clear, it’s up to Judd to decide whether or not you can go.”

“Where is Judd?” Dean asked, looking around.

“He went to the store,” Celine replied, leaning back against the counter. “I saw him leave about an hour ago.”

“Do you need us for anything else?” I asked as Sterling’s phone rang.

Briggs shook his head. He and Sterling left the room.

“Well, that’ll be the call for body number four,” Lia announced. She hopped off the counter. “How should we convince Judd to let us go check it out?”

Michael glanced around at us. Whatever he saw in all of our faces fueled his response. “Maybe we shouldn’t,” he replied carefully, his voice low.

Lia arched an eyebrow. “Whatever happened to Michael I’ve-Never-Really- Excelled-At- Should Townsend?”

“It’s risky,” Dean agreed. Lia’s other eyebrow rose up in surprise. 

“Dean and Micheal actually agreeing?” Celine muttered under her breath. “It must be a cold day in hell.”

Lia folded her arms across her chest. “Sloane said that if the pattern is followed, the final victim is a seventeen-year-old female. It could be Sloane. It could be Cassie. Or ,” she continued, increasing her volume, “it could be neither of them because it’s not connected to us at all.”

“The real question,” Michael interrupted, “is who’s doing this?” He paused for a second before continuing. “If it’s somebody we know, then it’s more likely that this does tie back to us. But if it’s some random person from California…”

“Townsend’s right,” Dean agreed. “We need to figure out who the killer is before we start making assumptions.”

Lia jutted her chin out. “And where do you suppose we start with that?”

“The victims,” I suggested. “We could see if they have any physical attributes in common.” Once upon a time, Special Agent Lacey Locke had murdered female psychics and dyed their hair red in the image of my mother. 

Sloane picked up the first file on the table and flipped it open. “Victim number one was a male. Age twenty-five. Blond hair, green eyes. He was five foot nine and a half, and a defense attorney.”

I flipped through the second. “Female, age twenty-four. Brown hair, blue eyes, five foot two. She was unemployed at the time of death.”

“What did she formerly work on?” Dean asked. The more information there is, the easier it is to understand.

“She was a criminal defense lawyer.”

“Two lawyers,” Celine recapped. “Both have something to do with defense.”

“You could go so far as to connect them both to criminals,” Michael suggested.

Lia picked up the third file. “Third victim.”

“Male, age twenty-three,” Sloane offered helpfully.

“He was a middle-school teacher,” Lia read. “Five-seven.”

I frowned. “What did he teach?”

“Gym.” Lia flipped a few pages. “He started out teaching English, but switched to what he thought involved less work, yet provided the same retirement and vacation benefits.”

“All that was in his file?” Celine asked, raising her eyebrows.

“I read in between the lines.”

“So the victims aren’t all connected,” Sloane concluded with a frown.

“Maybe they’re chosen randomly,” Michael suggested. 

Dean shook his head. “No. He wouldn’t alternate genders and decrease ages to choose his victims randomly.”

“I think Dean’s right,” I agreed. “You don’t kill two lawyers and then jump to a middle school gym teacher for no reason. They have to be connected somehow.”

Michael plucked the file from Lia’s hands and flipped through it. “Interesting,” he said slowly. “Victim number three was a secretary before he was a teacher. At a law firm.”

“Two lawyers and a former law firm employee,” I said.

“Why lawyers?” Celine asked, brows furrowing.

“Maybe it’s not just that they’re lawyers,” Dean suggested. “Their line of work has something to do with criminals.”

“Criminal defense , specifically,” Lia corrected. “Why would a criminal be killing the people who would defend him if he got caught?”

“Maybe he’s trying to prove something,” I offered. “Or avenge someone the criminal justice system wrongly accused.”

Dean caught onto my train of thought. “Maybe I knew someone who killed people and got caught. Maybe their trial wasn’t fair⎼⎼so I’m starting my run by killing the group of people who messed up.”

“So maybe this doesn’t connect to us at all,” Celine guessed. “None of us have any connections to lawyers.”

I nodded in agreement.

Maybe you just want to teach people a lesson.

Chapter Text

Briggs and Sterling cleared the area. Judd let us go after much persuasion, mostly from Lia.

 The fourth victim was a twenty-two year old female interning at a law firm. She liked working out, and had specifically gone to the high school track with permission from the athletic director and principal to run there. Time of death was estimated at about eight-fifteen PM.

 It was late. No one was there except you. I stuck to what I normally did⎼⎼slipping into the mind of the victim. You turn the floodlights on. You might feel like someone’s watching you, but if you do, you don’t think anything of it.

 “Red and black rubber are the most UV stable.” Sloane’s voice cut into my thoughts. She was twisting and untwisting her hands nervously. “This track is blue and black. The color blue is fairly UV stable, but fades quicker than red.” She paused for a breath, and Celine stepped in front of her and took Sloane’s hands, stilling them.

 Dean glanced around. “Does the location matter at all?”

 Sterling shook her head. “Not that we’ve seen. They aren’t making the Fibonacci spiral. I take it you picked up on the connections to criminal defense?”

 Dean and I both nodded.

 “Good. I want you thinking about that⎼⎼why the UNSUB is killing who he is.” With that, Sterling turned to address the group. “We’re removed the actual body, but you can still see the crime scene.”

 “Was anybody around?” Michael asked. “Do you have any witnesses who heard the gunshot?”

 “Guns are loud,” I agreed.

 Sterling nodded. “The principal was in the school. By the time he heard the gunshot and got down to the track…”

 It was already too late, I filled in.

 “Why use a gun?” Celine asked. “Why steer away from the previous rules?”

 “Shooting someone isn’t personal,” Dean replied, thinking aloud. He shifted to the UNSUB’s perspective. When Dean profiled, he lowered his voice, made it deeper. “Maybe I’m comfortable with guns. Maybe that feels like the best way to kill someone, or the fastest way.”

 “Maybe,” I suggested, “your ninth victim has a personal connection to guns.”

 “Maybe he’s just trying to send a message by being different,” Lia offered with a dramatic eye roll.

 “That feels too grandiose,” Michael interrupted. “Whoever this killer is, he picked one of the easiest possible ways to kill someone. I don’t think he’s trying to be different.”

 “It is a possibility, though,” I added, before things escalated any further.

 Briggs walked up and inserted himself into the conversation. “We’ve got reinforcements coming.”

 “Who?” I asked.

 “You probably don’t know them. Unless you watch reality TV.” With that, Briggs rolled his eyes skyward in a gesture of exasperation.

 “They’re your reinforcements?” Sterling asked, frowning.

 “Someone told them. I don’t know who. They want to help.”

 Michael repeated my question. “Who?”

 Briggs turned to face him. “Have you ever heard of the Hawthorne brothers?”

 “Yes,” I replied, without thinking. Everyone turned to stare at me.

 “Raise your hand if you’re surprised,” Michael said, raising his hand.

 “From my grandma,” I clarified. Nonna was big on reality TV, which led to a lot of dinner conversations about Avery Grambs, the Hawthorne heiress, and the four brothers who had apparently been supposed to inherit most of the money.

 “Care to explain them to the rest of us?” Lia asked, her tone leaning towards sarcastic.

 I shrugged. “I don’t know much.”

 “The Hawthorne brothers,” Sloane announced. “Nash, Grayson, Jameson, and Alexander. Grandsons of Tobias Hawthorne.”

 Sterling nodded. “They were supposed to inherit most of his money.”

 “But they didn’t?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

 “Avery Grambs did.”

 “Avery Kylie Grambs,” Sloane rattled off, unable to stop herself. “Born October eighteenth. One anagram of her name is a very risky gamble.”

 “Sloane, do you watch reality TV?” Celine teased.

 Sloane blushed. “No.”

 “Setting who the help is aside, let’s focus on how.” Sterling fixed Briggs with a no-nonsense look. “How did they find out about this?”

 “We don’t know,” Briggs replied. “Most likely, the news was passed along to her security detail.”

 “They’re really coming.” Sterling didn’t phrase it as a question.

 “Yes. They’ll be here soon.”

 “How soon?” Lia wanted to know.

 Briggs glanced at his watch. “Approximately twenty minutes.”

 “Flights from Texas to Colorado are usually about two hours, give or take fifteen minutes,” Sloane offered.

 Sterling turned to us. “In those twenty minutes, let’s see what we can get done. Dean. Cassie. Any thoughts on our killer?”

 “We think our UNSUB might be trying to prove a point,” I offered. “Or possibly avenge someone who was wronged by the criminal justice system.”

 “Maybe he knew one of the old Masters,” Celine suggested.

 Sterling nodded. “It’s possible.”

 “If so, we’re probably looking at one of the imprisoned ones,” Dean added. “If the Master our UNSUB knew was killed, it’s unlikely that our UNSUB would target people who work in the field of criminal defense.”

 “That is a logical conclusion,” Sterling agreed, folding her arms over her chest. “Any thoughts on the pattern? Sloane?”

 Sloane frowned slightly. “There isn’t one in the dates so far.”

 “The only pattern is in the victims,” Michael guessed, glancing at Sloane for confirmation. “With the alternating genders and decreasing age.”

 “That could be coincidence,” Dean pointed out.

 Sterling shook her head. “We don’t think it is.”

 Sloane tapped her fingers together nervously. “Are you sure he’s trying to rebuild the cult?”

 Sterling seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “We’re not entirely sure that’s what’s going on here. However, it seems likely.”

 Twenty minutes passed and left us with no logical conclusion. A black car pulled up outside the track, and two girls and four boys got out. On their heels was an older, expensive-looking woman and a burly man.

 “I take it they’re our reinforcements?” Michael asked.

 Sterling nodded tightly. “Meet the Hawthornes.”

 The shorter girl reached us first, her brown hair in perfect waves that reached halfway down her back. “I’m Avery Grambs,” she introduced. “I’m guessing you’re the Naturals.”

 “Correct guess,” Michael told her. Lia elbowed him⎼⎼hard.

 The rest of Avery’s group reached us. Avery took up the introductions. “This is my sister, Libby,” she started. “And the Hawthorne brothers⎼⎼Nash, Grayson, Jameson, and Xander. And in the back is Alisa and Oren.”

 Briggs locked onto that. “Which one of you two passed along this message?”

 The man⎼⎼Oren⎼⎼shook his head. “We’re not sure who it was.”

 Michael decided to cover our end of introductions. “I’m Michael. This is Cassie, Dean, Sloane, Celine, and Lia. That’s Sterling, and the lovely ray of sunshine over there”⎼⎼he nodded to Briggs⎼⎼“is Briggs.”

 Sterling nodded, apparently satisfied. “How much about this case do you know?” she asked, directing the question at Avery’s group.

 “Not much,” Avery answered. “Four people are dead. The killer is using a gun.”

 “That’s basically all we know, too,” Lia muttered. Sterling shot her a look.

 “Thirty-two percent of American adults own a gun,” Sloane blurted, which was a sure sign that she was feeling a little overwhelmed. I glanced at Celine, hoping she would get the message. Fortunately, she did, and squeezed Sloane’s hand.

 “Why a gun?” Nash asked in a Southern drawl. “That’s my question.”

 “We don’t know that,” I admitted. “All we have is theories.”

 “That’s usually all we have for a while,” Sterling pointed out, as both a reminder to us and an explanation to Avery’s group. “What were some of the theories?”

 “Personal connection to guns,” Celine suggested. “Easy to use.”

 “Comfortable with guns,” Dean added in a low voice.

 “I’m still standing by the whole being different thing,” Lia said.

 Xander raised a hand like he was in class, and Sterling nodded to him. “How does this guy use a gun multiple times and never get caught? How does no one ever hear the gunshot?”

 “Actually, someone did here,” Briggs reminded him. “And you’re on a good train of thought.”

 “They had the same question,” Sterling agreed. “From what we’ve seen, the first three kills have been in more secluded locations, where people aren’t likely to be. This one was a step up, more risky, but it still worked out for our killer.”

 You like planning. You like to make sure it’s all going to work out for you.

 I glanced around at the other Naturals. Dean was deep in conversation with Avery and Sterling. Michael, Lia, and Celine were catching the Hawthornes and Libby up on the other victims. Sloane was staring at something in the distance, which I didn’t think anything of⎼⎼until she squeaked and a gunshot went off. 

 I heard multiple screams as we all hit the ground. Briggs had his phone out immediately, calling for more agents. Sterling got to her feet second. “Anyone hurt?” she asked, all business. “Did that hit anyone?”

 I glanced down at my hands, which felt sticky. 

 Blood. They’re covered in blood.

 That’s not my blood.

 Sloane.

 “Cassie,” Sterling said sharply. “What happened to your hands?”

 I held them up numbly. “This isn’t my blood.”

 Celine appeared next to me. She froze. “Sloane?”

 It was completely silent for a few seconds.

 She can’t be dead. She can’t be dead.

 There was a soft moan, and Celine visibly relaxed. She didn’t stop, though. “Sloane was hit,” she reported to Sterling, pressing on the wound. “Shoulder.”

 “Are you always in constant danger like this?” Xander asked curiously.

 “Pretty much,” Michael told him.

 “Only when we’re working a case,” Dean corrected.

 “You’re all out of here,” Sterling announced, her tone leaving no room for argument. “It’s too dangerous. We’ll meet back at the house. You know the way?” The last part of her sentence was directed at Alisa and Oren. Alisa nodded.

 Briggs scooped Sloane into his arms in half a second. “Security says the parking lot’s clear.”

 “Your agents must have scared him off,” Grayson noted, his voice crisp.

 “Since we didn’t catch him, that’s the hope,” Briggs replied darkly.

Back at the house, we could only play a waiting game. Sterling let us know that Sloane would definitely make a full recovery, but that was the only news she had. Not one of Briggs’s backup agents had spotted the UNSUB in the track parking lot.

 “Let’s play a game,” Lia suggested.

 “No,” Dean and Grayson said in unison.

 Lia rolled her eyes. “You’re all so quick to assume. I was thinking something along the lines of Two Truths and a Lie, so we can get to know each other.”

 Jameson grinned. “I’m in.”

 “I’ll start,” Lia offered, and Jameson nodded at her in a go-ahead motion. “One: I killed a man when I was nine years old.” She didn’t flinch. Nothing in her voice changed. All she was doing was reusing the truths she’d used in Vegas. “Two: Michael and I are on right now. And three: I lived in a bathroom in the Met.”

 “It’s the second one,” Dean said immediately.

 “You would hope that,” Michael agreed.

 “It’s the second one,” I seconded. Lia didn’t like to give out her secrets, so here she was, reusing them.

 Lia neither confirmed nor denied whether or not we were right, because the door flew open and Sterling entered the room.

Celine jumped to her feet immediately. “What’s wrong?”

 Sterling took a deep breath. “Sloane saw our UNSUB.”

Chapter Text

Light skin. Dark hair. Green eyes. Celine took the details and got to work on facial reconstruction. I ended up with Sloane, who had fallen back asleep, and watched the steady rise and fall of her chest.

The door creaked slightly, and Avery peeked in. “Hey,” she whispered.

“Hi,” I replied. Avery stayed where she was. I gestured for her to come in. “You can come in, you know.”

Avery sat down in the chair next to me. “Sorry. I wasn’t sure if you’d want me in here.”

We were quiet for a few seconds, then Avery spoke up again. “The others were telling me about the whole cult thing, so… I guess we can rule out the possibility that Sloane was going to be the ninth?”

“Maybe,” I replied. “That could’ve been a… I don’t know. A warning, or something.”

“A warning,” Avery repeated. “About what?”

I frowned. “I don’t know. But if our UNSUB really is trying to rebuild the cult, he wouldn’t break the pattern like that.”

“Pattern?” Avery said, arching an eyebrow. “Back up. Tell me everything you know about this cult.”

So I did. I explained about the Fibonacci dates, the seven Masters for the seven different ways of killing, the pattern in each of the killing sprees. I left out the parts about the Pythia and Nine, knowing they wouldn’t be helpful in the moment. “What we’re thinking if that our UNSUB trying to rebuild the cult with an eighth method. He’s not killing on a series of Fibonacci dates, though.”

“Are you sure that’s even what’s happening here?” Avery asked slowly. “It could just be some guy who’s got a gun. If he is following the pattern of days, then it’s more likely, but… I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”

Sloane stirred but didn’t wake. I lowered my voice when I spoke again anyway. “I guess.”

Briggs entered the room, glancing at Sloane. When he spoke, it was quieter than normal. “Good news. Thanks to Celine and technology, we’ve been able to identify our UNSUB. He’s gone under the radar, unsurprisingly, but we know his name is James Stone and that he’s a former employee of the Majesty.”

The last word in Briggs’s sentence hit me like a ton of bricks. “You mean⎼⎼?”

“Yes,” Briggs confirmed. “He worked under Grayson Shaw.”

Avery held her hand up. I could see her trying to fit the puzzle pieces together in her head, could see her trying to make sense of any possible connections. “Hold on a second. Who is Grayson Shaw?”

“Sloane’s father,” I filled in.

I could see the exact second it clicked for Avery. “That means…”

Briggs finished Avery’s sentence for her. “There’s a higher possibility that Sloane is supposed to be the ninth kill now.”

“Of course, it’s still just a possibility,” Sterling interrupted, entering the room as well. “But she fits the pattern. She has a connection to the Majesty. She was shot today⎼⎼although for what reason, we don’t know.”

“Warning,” Avery muttered under her breath.

I explained. “It could’ve been a warning. Only firing one shot into a non-fatal place with lots of people around isn’t a sound way of killing someone.”

Sterling nodded slowly. “I see what you’re getting at.” Sloane shifted restlessly in her sleep, and Sterling crossed the room, resting a hand on her uninjured shoulder. “However, we shouldn’t tell Sloane any of this.”

“What?” I asked.

Avery frowned. “Why not?”

“Remember Vegas?” Sterling asked me. “When Nightshade had his attention on Vegas, and we found out Tory was going to be Beau’s ninth kill?”

I remembered. Nightshade, one of the former seven Masters, had focused in on Vegas⎼⎼specifically Beau Donovan, an ex-member of the cult trying to win their respect back. When we’d told Tory that Beau was the killer, we hadn’t said anything about the cult⎼⎼because knowing could have put her in more danger.

“We didn’t tell Tory any of those specifics because that could’ve been more dangerous for her,” Sterling continued. “We’ll do the same thing here. The others will know, but I don’t want Sloane to know that she’s in danger or that there’s a possibility that this could be connected to her father.”

Avery scrunched her face up, thinking. “Why don’t you want her to know that last part?”

Sterling opened her mouth to reply but paused when Sloane stirred. Her eyes fluttered open. “...Sterling?”

In typical Sterling fashion, she cut straight to the chase. “How do you feel?”

Sloane muttered something unintelligible. Sterling nodded like this was a perfectly normal response. “We’ve identified our UNSUB,” she continued.

Avery elbowed me and I glanced in her direction. “I know,” I whispered. “I thought Sterling wasn’t going to say anything, either.”

“Briggs’s team is trying to track him down as we speak.” Fortunately, Sterling stopped there. I felt my shoulders relax.

Sloane turned her head towards where Avery and I were sitting. “Cassie?”

I jumped to my feet and squeezed her hand. Avery stayed where she was. “I’m right here.”

She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. “It hurts.”

I squeezed again. “I know. It’s gonna be okay.”

The door opened slightly and Dean stuck his head in. His gaze landed on me. “Cassie. Can we talk?”

I glanced at Sterling. She nodded. I let go of Sloane’s hand and followed Dean out into the hallway. He pushed the door shut again. “What is it?”

“I’m worried about Sloane,” Dean said in a low voice. “I don’t think she’s going to handle this well.”

“So you know.” I didn’t phrase it as a question.

Dean frowned at me. “Do you know more than I do?”

“Um. Maybe.” I stared at him. “Did Sterling tell you about the UNSUB before she told me?”

Dean shook his head. “All the rest of us have is a name.”

I hesitated before plunging forward. “He used to work at the Majesty.”

It took Dean all of two seconds to make the connection. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish.”

“That connects Sloane to this case even more,” Dean continued, staring at the floor. His blond hair fell in front of his eyes. “She could be in serious danger.”

“Sterling’s not going to tell her.”

Dean sighed and met my eyes. “She can’t die, Cass. You know that as well as I do.”

I did. If we lost Sloane, it would crush all of us. Judd had already told us before about the bad mental space he’d gone to when he’d lost his daughter, Scarlett. Losing any one of us would send him back there easily, but if it was Sloane? There was no telling how much damage that would do.

“Should we tell the others?” I asked.

Dean considered this for several seconds. “It could be helpful. They might see something we don’t.” He paused. “Is it just me, or are you having a hard time getting into this guy’s head as well?”

I thought back to the amount of profiling I’d done. Normally, I stuck to profiling the victim⎼⎼trying to figure out what might have happened to draw the attention of the UNSUB. “All I have is that he likes to plan.”

“That’s pretty much what I’ve got, too.” Dean paused again, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, deeper. “I’ve watched for such a long time.”

“You don’t like watching,” I filled in. “You like to take action.”

“No offense to you guys and all, but what are you talking about?”

I turned to see Libby behind us. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know what goes through the minds of teenagers working in the FBI.” She nodded to the door. “Is Avery in there?”

I nodded.

Libby blew out a breath. “Do you think anyone would care if I went in there?”

“I think you’re fine,” I replied.

In response, she opened the door and stuck her head in, similar to the way Dean had. I tuned out whatever she was saying and focused my attention back on James Stone. “For someone who doesn’t like to watch, he must have done a whole lot of it.”

“There’s a chance he used to see Sloane there,” Dean allowed.

“Or when we were there,” I offered. “In January.”

“That’s probably more likely,” Dean figured. “It would be easier to make the connection between January and now as compared to several years ago to now.”

I nodded. “Do you think he knew Aaron?”

“I think that if he worked in the casino, there’s no way he didn’t.”

Dean had a point. Aaron Shaw had been the heir’s son, the “golden boy.” It was nearly impossible to be in the Majesty without hearing or seeing some sort of reference to the Shaws.

Libby pulled her head back out of the room and closed the door, turning her attention back to us. “If you’re done crawling into people’s heads⎼⎼or whatever that was⎼⎼everyone else has regrouped in the basement.”

We joined everyone else in the basement.

It felt strange not having Sloane there. Of course, I’d been in the basement without her several times, but in a way, the basement was her domain. I didn’t know who had picked the location, but if it was one of the other Naturals, the chances were high they’d picked the basement for a reason.

One of those reasons was because it was soundproof.

“Sterling did some digging into James Stone,” I said. My hand found Dean’s. “He used to work at the Majesty.”

Michael’s mouth fell open. Lia did an impressive job of masking her emotions. The name didn’t have an effect on anybody else⎼⎼which was, for the most part, unsurprising.

Dean filled in the gaps. “The Majesty is a casino in Vegas. Sloane’s father owns it.”

“I have some words for that guy,” Celine muttered under her breath. I wondered how much she knew about Sloane’s family⎼⎼how much Sloane had told her, how much Michael had told her, how much she’d figured out for herself.

The door slammed, and Avery appeared at the bottom of the stairs seconds later. “Regrouping?”

Jameson tipped his head in her direction. “Correct as always.”

I really did not want to know what those two got up to in their free time. “Sterling said the connection means there’s a higher possibility Sloane is supposed to be James Stone’s ninth kill.”

“That would certainly make a statement,” Grayson mused. “The daughter of his ex-boss.”

“She can’t be,” Michael interrupted, staring at the floor. Celine grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “She can’t.”

“From what I understand, sittin’ around talkin’ about this guy and discussin’ theories isn’t going to do anyone any good,” Nash chimed in, his Southern accent dropping g’s. He inclined his head in our direction. “You want this guy? You gotta go out there and find him.”

“It’s not that easy,” Dean shot back. I squeezed his hand.

Celine took a different course. “How much does Sloane know?”

“Sterling wants to keep her in the dark,” I replied. 

“So, not much,” Lia translated.

Dean spoke up again. “If James Stone really does have his sights set on her, then she’s in a lot of danger. Knowing everything could only make that worse.”

“Plus, if we tell her this could possibly be connected to her father…” Lia trailed off and shrugged in a way that seemed careless but really wasn’t. “There’s no telling what could happen.”

Grayson read in between the lines. “I’m guessing they don’t have the best relationship.”

I filled them in on that. “Her father wasn’t married to her mother. They had an affair.”

“And he doesn’t want anything to do with Sloane,” Michael added darkly.

I’d seen that firsthand.

“These are all good talking points,” Jameson interrupted. “But I agree with Nash.”

“What do you think goes into catching a killer?” Lia asked. Her tone was light, but I knew her well enough to read into that. She was more than capable of masking one thing with another. “We have to sit around and talk about it. That’s how we figure things out.”

“What else is there to figure out?” Jameson asked, his tone more than a little annoyed.

Dean answered before I could. “The first four victims.”

“They all had a connection to criminal defense,” I continued. “But Sloane doesn’t.”

“Maybe you’re thinking too narrow,” Avery suggested. “It could just be the connection to criminals, rather than criminal defense specifically.”

“Whatever the case,” Grayson interjected, “I would say we need to work fast.”