Chapter 1
"Eternity was in our lips and eyes,
Bliss in our brows' bent; none our parts so poor
But was a race of heaven."
— William Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra
The hustle and bustle of the city reached the small apartment, and evening shadows crept across the floor. Harry sat at the kitchen table, forgotten cup of cold coffee beside him. He hadn’t wanted to come here, hadn’t wanted to him again, but there he was, the pen in his hand, the words stuck in his throat.
A figure of man stood in the doorway, watching him, silent and patient. Harry knew he was there, could feel his eyes on the back of his head, but he didn’t dare turn around. He had no choice now. His presence was behind him, like a dark cloud, heavy and pressing. He could feel his gaze on him, could hear the subtle click of his shoes against the floor as he paced slowly. Harry tried to ignore the tension in his shoulders, the tight knot in his stomach.
"Do not take too long," his voice cut through the silence, cold yet calm. "I am waiting, Harry."
Harry’s fingers shook slightly as he tried to focus on the paper in front of him. He’d been given very clear instructions: make it sound like it was his decision, like he’d come to this conclusion on his own. No one could suspect. But Harry knew that it wasn’t his decision at all. It was his, and Harry was trapped in his own flat, too afraid to refuse.
Taking a deep breath, Harry began to write.
Spencer,
He paused. He could feel this man’s presence behind him, could practically hear his sharp breath as he leaned over Harry’s shoulder, scrutinizing every letter. Harry swallowed, forcing himself to keep writing.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and I’ve come to realise that I need to step away for a while. There are some things I need to work through, and I think it’s best if I do it on my own. It’s not about you — it’s about me needing some space and time to figure things out.
The cold voice broke the silence again. “It is good. Keep it simple. No complications. Remember, Harry. No one can doubt it. Or people will get hurt.”
Harry’s heart hammered in his chest, and his hand tightened on the pen. He tried to calm himself, but his mind kept flashing back to Spencer: the way Spencer’s smile made him feel safe, the warmth of their shared moments. All of that, now slipping away as he wrote.
He continued, each word feeling heavier than the last.
I hope you understand. I care about you, more than I can say, but right now, I need to be on my own. Don’t try to find me. I need this time to heal and move forward.
Another pause. He stood behind him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, yet cold enough to send shivers down Harry’s spine.
"Do not make it sound too dramatic," he instructed quietly, a hint of impatience in his tone. "Make it clean. Like you have thought about this for a long time."
The words were soft, but they carried a weight that pressed down on Harry's chest. He had no other option, but to comply. He had no choice, but to obey. He could already feel the consequences of hesitation. The man was there, looming, patient, but always dangerous. The man’s footsteps were light but constant behind him, like a slow, steady countdown. The pressure from his gaze felt like it was suffocating Harry, every breath coming harder than the last. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake.
“You are doing well,” the man said, his voice soft and almost affectionate. “You know what comes next.”
Harry bit his lip, trying to ignore the tightening in his chest. He wrote the next line, forcing the words out even as they felt like lies.
You’ve been the best part of my life, Spencer. A safe place, even when things were tough. You’re the reason I can walk away with peace, knowing I’ve had something real. Please take care of yourself. Maybe take a trip to that place you’ve talked about, Maple Grove. I hope you’ll find peace there.
“You have made a mistake,” he said softly, but there was an edge to his words now. “Maple Grove? Why would you mention that?”
Harry’s heart skipped. He thought it would be the perfect subtle way to communicate with Spencer, a secret message hidden in plain sight. But now the man was focused on it, his curiosity piqued.
“Do not play games with me, Harry,” the man continued, his voice sharp. “What is so special about Maple Grove? Why would you choose that place? Is there something you are trying to say?” He took a step back, his eyes narrowing, studying Harry with a new intensity. “Tell me now.”
Harry’s breath hitched, his fingers trembling around the pen. The man was onto him. Every instinct screamed at Harry to deny it, to make it seem like an accidental inclusion, and Harry was never a good liar.
“I—” Harry started, but his throat felt dry. “It’s just a place… a cabin Spencer talked about once.” He forced the words out, praying it sounded believable. “I thought… I thought he deserved to know I still care, even while asking for space.”
Silence stretched between them.
The man studied him for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. Then, after a moment, he let out a quiet, almost amused hum. “How sentimental,” He smiled, but there was no warmth in it, just cold amusement. “Yes,” the man continued, his voice slow and thoughtful. “You were always soft, weren’t you, Harry?” He sighed, stepping back, the tension in the air shifting. “Very well. Finish it.”
Harry let out the breath he had been holding, his fingers still trembling as he forced himself to write the final words.
I’ll always remember what we had, and I’ll always be grateful for you. Don’t forget that.
Harry
He put down the pen, his hand shaking. He could feel man’s eyes on him, but Harry refused to look up. The letter was done, and it was as perfect as Harry could accomplish.
The man stood still, scrutinizing Harry with an intensity that made the air feel heavy. He didn’t speak for several long seconds, his eyes narrowed, analyzing every twitch of Harry’s face. Harry’s heart raced, the tension in the room almost suffocating. He could feel the weight of the man’s gaze, searching for any sign of deception, but Harry kept his expression neutral, praying the explanation would be enough.
Finally, the man’s lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Hmm. Maple Grove, a cabin Spencer once mentioned…” He let the words hang in the air, as if testing them. “Fine. It is nothing.” His smile widened, and just for a moment, Harry knew he had passed the test. The man took a step back, nodding to himself. “That is believable. Nice to know you are the same as you always were.”
Harry exhaled, feeling the tight knot in his chest loosen ever so slightly. He had gotten away with it. For now.
But the man didn’t leave immediately. He lingered, his eyes still cold and calculating. “But don’t try to slip anything else by me. You understand? If you want to keep playing this little game of yours, make sure your mistakes do not get in the way again.”
Harry nodded, his hands still trembling as he held the pen, trying to steady his breath. “I understand.”
“Good,” the man said, his voice lighter now. “Now, rewrite it. Make sure it is perfect. No room for error.” He turned to walk away, but then paused, casting a final glance over his shoulder. “I want the letters to look uniform — no looping of the h or y. Straight lines on the e and the r. The a needs to be firm, not too wide.” He paused for a moment, a slight chuckle escaping him as if Harry were being tested like a child. “Your pretty boy is not the only one with a working brain, Harry. The way you write matters. I will know if you try to resist. You’ve been very cooperative, Harry. Do not disappoint me.”
“I- I don’t understand, what’s wrong with it”, Harry muttered, his heart pounding in his chest.
And the man didn’t step back. He hovered near Harry, his presence unyielding, like a shadow that refused to dissipate. Harry’s heart raced in his chest, and he could feel his breath becoming shallow as the man continued to scrutinize the letter. Harry’s pen trembled in his hand as he stared at the words he had already written. The man loomed behind him, casting an imposing shadow over the desk. He leaned in close, inspecting the letters one by one.
“You missed the mark here,” he said, pointing to the “h” in Harry. “Too curved. The slant is wrong. It’s not firm enough. The r is too sharp. Fix it. You need to make sure it is clean, straight. Like this.” He reached over, his fingers grazing Harry’s wrist, forcing the pen back onto the page.
“Now, the a. See how this one dips too low? It should be upright, almost rigid. No softness. Firm, clean lines. I remember how you write, Harry,” his breath was warm against Harry’s ear as he watched intently, like a predator waiting for any misstep.
Harry didn’t dare protest. He didn’t dare question. He just nodded, his throat tight, as the man’s fingers gently adjusted Harry’s grip on the pen, guiding it as though Harry were a child learning to write for the first time.
“There,” the man said, nodding in approval. “Better. But it is still not perfect. The e here... too loose. Tighten it. Control the flow of your hand. You are letting your nerves get in the way. This letter is your last chance to make things look right.”
Harry swallowed, his chest tightening further with each passing second. He had no freedom, no control over this moment. Every stroke of the pen, every letter formed, was at the man’s command. He glanced down at the page, his hands trembling slightly, as the man hovered over him like a hawk.
The man didn’t leave. He stayed there, arms crossed, watching Harry’s every move, eyes locked on the paper as if waiting for any mistake to slip through. When Harry finally finished, he didn’t let up.
“Let me see,” he demanded, holding out his hand. Harry hesitated for a split second before passing the letter over.
The man studied it, his gaze piercing. His lips thinned into a tight line, and Harry’s stomach churned.
“You have made progress,” the man said, his voice laced with a cold approval. “But there is still a hint of uncertainty. This ‘Maple Grove’... I’ll fix this. You don’t need to think. Just do what I say.”
Harry watched in silence as the man took the letter, adjusting the positioning of certain letters, making small but precise changes. His fingers moved with a practiced, almost clinical touch, fixing what he considered “imperfections.” Harry was powerless to stop it.
Finally, the man stepped back, holding the finished letter up, inspecting it one last time. A satisfied smile crept onto his lips. “Much better,” he said, the satisfaction in his voice clear. “It is clean. No mistakes. Just as it should be. You did well, Harry. Now, make sure you remember this next time.”
Harry stared at the page, feeling like a puppet whose strings had been pulled tighter than ever. There was no escaping this. No escaping him. He was caught in the web, and every part of him—his thoughts, his actions, even his handwriting — had to conform to the man’s will.
“So,” Harry said, his voice just a little too casual. “You’ve really got a knack for this, huh? Maybe you should’ve been a teacher after all.”
The man’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “What did you say?”
Harry tried to keep his expression neutral, but he couldn’t hide the small, almost sardonic smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You know,” he said, leaning back slightly in his chair, “all that attention to detail, guiding every little thing, sounds like you'd make a great teacher. Always correcting and instructing. I’m sure the kids would love you.”
The man’s expression remained cold, but Harry could see the slight twitch in his jaw. He knew the man had always harbored that desire to teach, a desire Harry had learned about during their brief time together. He could still remember the way the man had spoken about his ideal job —imparting wisdom, shaping minds. It was almost ironic, considering how he controlled and manipulated those around him.
"You think this is funny, Harry?" The man’s voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge to it now. “This is not a joke.”
Harry could feel the weight of the man’s gaze on him, but he wasn’t about to let it completely crush his spirit, even if just for a moment. “Well, you’ve certainly got the... ‘hands-on’ approach down, right?” Harry quipped, forcing the words out in a light, teasing tone, even though his heart was racing in his chest.
The man took a step closer, his presence looming like a shadow. Harry could see the flicker of frustration in his eyes, perhaps even a hint of annoyance.
“I told you not to make mistakes, Harry,” the man said, his voice tightening, the cold smile never leaving his face. “But here you are, trying to undermine my authority. You don’t get to joke about this. Not now. Not ever.”
Harry quickly composed himself, swallowing the fear that had crept up. He could feel the man’s presence, every word, every movement sending a shiver through him. But for a fleeting second, the defiant spark was still there. He knew this was a battle he wasn’t likely to win, but he’d fight, in whatever small way he could.
“Right,” Harry said, his tone softening, but the lightheartedness still lingering in his words. “I’m sure you'd make a much better teacher than a... you know, other profession.” He didn’t dare finish the sentence.
The man’s eyes locked onto Harry with chilling intensity. “Do not push me, Harry. You might find yourself regretting it.”
Harry just nodded, feeling the weight of the situation sink back into him. He couldn’t afford to provoke him any further. Not now. But for a brief, reckless moment, Harry had managed to slip in a small, dangerous joke. A flicker of rebellion, however brief.
The man stared at him for a long moment before turning his attention back to the letter.
“Finish it,” he ordered, his voice devoid of amusement. “And next time, remember who you are dealing with.”
The plane hummed softly as it cruised through the clouds. The team was scattered across the cabin, decompressing after a grueling case. Spencer Reid sat by the window, a book balanced on his knee. His eyes skimmed the page, but it was clear to anyone who knew him that his focus wasn’t on the words.
Morgan, seated across the aisle, noticed. He leaned back in his chair with a mischievous grin. “Hey, Pretty Boy, got a question for you.”
Spencer glanced up, blinking as if pulled from his thoughts. “What is it?”
Morgan’s grin widened. “Who’s the guy”
Spencer frowned, confused. “What guy?”
Morgan leaned forward, clearly enjoying himself. “We saw you at the bar before this case. Some guy sneaks up on you, covers your eyes, and instead of reacting like someone’s about to abduct you, you smile. You know, dark hair, mysterious vibe, all confident. So, spill.”
Spencer’s cheeks flushed, and he immediately looked back down at his book. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on, Reid,” JJ chimed in from a nearby seat, her voice light with curiosity. “We all saw him. You looked… different. Happy.”
Garcia, seated next to JJ, gasped dramatically. “Harry who? Harry as in a friend, or Harry as in—” She wiggled her eyebrows dramatically. “And you didn’t share this with your favorite genius goddess?”
“It’s not a secret,” Spencer mumbled, his face turning even redder.
“Then why didn’t you tell us?” JJ pressed, her tone gentle but persistent.
“I didn’t think it was relevant,” Spencer stammered, still avoiding eye contact. “I like to keep my personal life separate from work. I don’t like to talk about… that.”
“It’s relevant if it makes you smile like that,” Morgan said with a chuckle. “We’ve never seen you that relaxed, man. Who is he?”
Spencer hesitated, his gaze shifting toward the window. His fingers tightened around the edge of his book. “He’s… someone important to me,” he said finally, his voice soft. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while.”
“Does this someone have a name?” Rossi asked from across the cabin, his tone casual but his curiosity clear.
Spencer shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Not yet?” Garcia exclaimed. “Reid, how long have we been friends? This is an emergency! We need to know!”
“Garcia,” Hotch’s calm voice cut in, his tone quiet but commanding. He was seated a few rows away, his focus on a file, though it was clear he’d been listening. “Give him some space.”
Garcia huffed but leaned back in her seat. “Fine. But I have so many questions.”
“Later,” Hotch added with a faint smile, his eyes briefly meeting Spencer’s.
Morgan leaned back with a grin, clearly amused. “You know, Pretty Boy, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this flustered. Whoever this guy is, he must be something special.”
Spencer finally looked up, meeting Morgan’s gaze. “He is,” he said simply, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.
JJ’s expression softened. “Well, I think it’s great, Spence. And when you’re ready to tell us more, we’ll be here.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow, smirking. “And don’t expect us not to be curious in the meantime.”
“Or to meet him!” Garcia chimed in.
Spencer sighed, shaking his head as a reluctant laugh escaped him. “You’re impossible.”
“We’re family,” Morgan corrected with a wink. “It’s our job.”
As the conversation shifted back to work, Hotch glanced at Spencer again, his expression unreadable but thoughtful. Spencer, now left to his own thoughts, leaned back in his seat, a mix of embarrassment and warmth lingering in his chest. The teasing was relentless, but their support—however nosy—meant more to him than he would admit.
Quietly, his thoughts drifted back to Harry. They didn’t know his name yet, but that was fine. For now, Spencer was content keeping a small piece of his happiness just for himself.
Spencer stepped off the plane, shoulders stiff from the long flight and the weeks of relentless work. The case had drained him, long hours of sleepless nights and deep dives into criminal minds that left little room for anything else. But now, finally, it is over. His feet were back on familiar ground, and he could breathe a little easier.
He moved through the airport, the buzz of crowd around him blending into the background noise. His mind, however, was still on the case, replaying the final moments of their investigation. The relief of solving it was still settling in, but it came with its own weight, like a heavy stone that had been lifted from his chest, only to be replaced with fatigue.
As he made his way to the baggage claim, he allowed himself a brief moment to think about the mundane: the stack of unread books on his coffee table, the leftover takeout in the fridge, the quiet apartment that awaited him. Spencer wasn’t someone who often took time for himself, but today felt different. He felt like he deserved a moment of peace, even if it was just for the evening.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him out of his thoughts. It was a group text from the team, discussing a new case. It felt strange to be back in the rhythm of work so soon after just finishing one, but that was the nature of the job. Still, he didn’t feel the usual urgency. For once, he was happy to push it aside, knowing there’d be time to deal with it later.
Spencer grabbed his suitcase and made his way to the parking garage. The cool evening air was a welcome change from the stale air inside the plane. It was a short drive home, and he focused on the familiar streets, the rhythm of the road beneath the tires.
As he pulled into the parking garage and walked up to his apartment, he noticed the quiet. It was the same every time he returned, but today, the silence didn’t feel so heavy. There was no rush to fill the space with noise or thoughts. For once, it felt like the perfect setting to unwind.
Spencer set his suitcase down, shrugged off his jacket, and immediately felt the weight of his muscles loosen. It was good to be home, to know that for the next few days, he could leave the work behind and focus on getting some rest.
He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and sat on the couch, allowing himself to sink into the cushions. His gaze flickered over to the bookshelf—still filled with books, some untouched for months.
Spencer stretched out his legs and closed his eyes for a moment. No case files, no team reports, no deadlines. Just him, the quiet of his apartment, and the space to let his mind wander. Maybe he’d finally finish that novel Harry had recommended. But then again, maybe he’d just enjoy the silence for a while longer.
The phone buzzed again, but this time, Spencer didn’t reach for it immediately. There would be time to respond to the team later. For now, he just let himself be.
Spencer leaned back against the couch, eyes still closed, his fingers tracing the edge of his water bottle absentmindedly. The quiet of the apartment was almost too peaceful, making the space feel larger than it actually was. It was a feeling he wasn’t used to,having the time to just sit still. Usually, his mind would be racing, his thoughts running over the details of the case or the next task on his to-do list. But today, something else lingered at the edges of his consciousness.
Harry.
After a moment of stillness, Spencer allowed his thoughts to shift, and naturally, his mind wandered to Harry. The brief flashes of his face, the way he smiled at him in their quieter moments, had always lingered in his thoughts, though Spencer did his best to push them aside. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy Harry’s presence, quite the opposite, actually. It was the first time in a long while that Spencer allowed himself to think about him without distraction (he didn’t count the moment om the plane. He did not). Spencer had been so caught up in work lately, pushing any thoughts of Harry away to focus on the immediate chaos of his cases.
But lately, as the cases piled up and the exhaustion weighed on him, there had been more than one night when his thoughts drifted back to Harry. He hadn't heard from him in a while, which was strange. Harry had always been a man of subtle communication, but this silence felt different. Even for Harry, it was a little too quiet. Spencer didn’t like it, but he didn’t want to make it seem like he was pushing too much either.
Spencer took a deep breath and stood up to grab his phone. Maybe he’d check in, even if it was just a message, something simple.
Spencer unlocked his phone, his fingers hesitating over the screen for a moment. He scrolled to Harry’s contact, his thumb pausing over the name. It had been a while since they last communicated, days, maybe longer. The silence from Harry was unusual, but Spencer had learned not to read too much into it. Harry had his own way of handling things, his own rhythms, life. Spencer didn't want to intrude or assume anything, but he couldn't ignore the nagging feeling in his chest.
He typed out a short message: “Hey, I just wanted to check in. I’m in DC. I know things have been busy, but I hope everything’s okay. Contact me, when you have time.”
With a quick tap, he sent it, then waited. He leaned back against the couch, tapping his fingers lightly on the armrest, glancing at the clock. It was late, and Harry’s schedule was unpredictable, especially with his demanding job. Spencer figured he was probably asleep or caught up with something. It didn’t worry him,not yet. Harry had always had a way of vanishing into his own world, especially when the weight of everything around him became too much.
Spencer stared at his phone, willing it to buzz with a reply. But minutes passed, and nothing came. He tried not to let it bother him, reminding himself that Harry needed space sometimes. Maybe he'd fallen asleep early, worn out from his own responsibilities. It wasn’t like Harry ignoring a message for long, but Spencer didn’t want to jump to conclusions.
He stood up and moved to the window, pulling back the curtain just a little. The night was calm, the streetlights casting soft pools of light on the pavement below. It was the kind of night where everything seemed at rest, yet there was a part of him that felt restless.
Maybe Harry was just tired. He had to be. His job was hard, and Spencer knew better than anyone that it often consumed every ounce of energy, leaving little room for anything else. So, he gave it another few minutes, then set the phone down and tried to focus on something else. There was no point in obsessing over it. If Harry wasn’t responding, he’d just have to wait.
Spencer let out a slow breath, leaning back into the couch cushions. There would be time to talk tomorrow, he was sure of it. And when Harry did finally get back to him, Spencer hoped he’d find a way to bridge the silence that had been hanging between them lately.
But for now, he was content to give Harry the space he needed. After all, it wasn’t just about Spencer waiting for Harry, it was about understanding him, knowing when to give him room, and when to step in.
Spencer set his phone down on the coffee table, glancing at the dark screen once more before sighing quietly. He wasn’t worried, he knew Harry had his own pace, his own life. But the silence of him was unusual, and Spencer couldn’t help but feel a slight shift in the air, a tug at the back of his mind that wouldn’t quite let go.
He moved through the familiar motions of getting ready for bed. It wasn’t a big ritual. Just brushing his teeth, changing into his pajamas, and slipping under the cool sheets. The room was quiet, saved for the soft hum of the refrigerator in the other room, and Spencer let himself enjoy the stillness.
As he turned off the light and settled into bed, he glanced at his phone once more. No new messages. He expected that. Harry was probably caught up in something, and Spencer had learned not to jump to conclusions. He placed the phone on the nightstand and rolled onto his side, closing his eyes.
His thoughts wandered briefly to the case he’d just wrapped up, the long hours, the constant tension. But soon, the weight of exhaustion took over, and his mind started to quiet. A brief flicker of thought about Harry passed by, he’d check in tomorrow, maybe, but it was nothing pressing. Just a passing thought, something that didn’t demand his attention.
Spencer adjusted his pillow, then closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, let his body relax further into the bed, and finally let sleep come. The quiet was familiar, the stillness comforting. It wasn’t a restless night, not really.
Tomorrow was a new day. There would be more cases, more messages, and he would hear from Harry when the time was right. A thought crossed his mind, he could swing by Harry’s place in the morning, maybe pick him up for work. He hadn’t seen him in a while, and he missed him. It wasn’t a big deal, just something he could do if he had the time. But before he could think much more about it, sleep started to pull him under. Just a few moments of idle thoughts before everything drifted into peaceful darkness.
It was barely 6 AM when the knock-on Spencer’s door jerked him awake, his body still heavy with sleep. The soft light filtering through the blinds felt foreign at this hour, a simple reminder that the world never really stopped. Spencer groaned quietly, reaching for his phone to glance at the time. His eyes were blurry, the numbers slightly out of focus, but he could make out the urgency: 6:03. He rubbed his face with a hand, muttering to himself as he stumbled out of bed, feet cold against the hardwood floor.
The knock came again, firm this time, insistent. Spencer sighed, his mind still foggy, and walked to the door, pulling it open with a half-formed question on his lips.
Standing there was a man he didn’t recognize. He was tall, with pale blonde hair that was just slightly too long and a sharp, almost aristocratic face. He wore a casual uniform, a dark jacket with a delivery company logo on the sleeve, and in his hands was an envelope, small, plain, with no return address. Spencer’s confusion deepened, and his eyes shifted down to the envelope before meeting the stranger’s gaze.
“Delivery for Dr. Spencer Reid. Is that you?” the man asked, his voice smooth but cold, almost rehearsed and his British accent noticeable. Spencer nodded, still half in a daze.
“Right, thanks,” Spencer mumbled, still trying to shake off the drowsiness. He took the envelope without thinking too much about it, half-expecting the man to say something else, but the delivery person simply nodded and turned to walk away.
Spencer closed the door and stared at the envelope for a moment. No return address, nothing that identified where it had come from. The handwriting on the front looked neat. He frowned as he wondered which delivery service could have made a drop this early. FedEx? UPS? Possibly Washington Express, too. He briefly entertained the idea of those services, but then again, something about the timing seemed… off. Most delivery companies had cut-off times for early deliveries, or at least a more predictable schedule. This wasn’t a typical package drop.
Who could have sent this? he thought, his mind flipping through possibilities. It wasn’t a letter from a colleague, none of them would send something like this without a heads-up. He stood there for a moment, staring at the envelope in his hand. It wasn’t sealed, no flashy stamps or markings, just plain, ordinary paper. He hesitated, then ripped it open, pulling out a single sheet of paper.
As his eyes scanned the words written in neat, precise handwriting, a shiver ran down his spine.
Spencer,
I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and I’ve come to realise that I need to step away for a while. There are some things I need to work through, and I think it’s best if I do it on my own. It’s not about you — it’s about me needing some space and time to figure things out.
I hope you understand. I care about you, more than I can say, but right now, I need to be on my own. Don’t try to find me. I need this time to heal and move forward.
You’ve been the best part of my life, Spencer. A safe place, even when things were tough. You’re the reason I can walk away with peace, knowing I’ve had something real. Please take care of yourself. Maybe take a trip to that place you’ve talked about, Maple Grove. I hope you’ll find peace there.
I’ll always remember what we had, and I’ll always be grateful for you. Don’t forget that.
Harry
Spencer’s eyes moved quickly over the words, his mind processing faster than his emotions could catch up. The letter was structured, neat—too neat. Harry’s way of writing was more relaxed, even when he was serious. This read like something rehearsed, something meant to be convincing.
Then he saw it. Maple Grove.
It was unmistakable, the emergency word they’d come up with Harry some time ago, the signal they had agreed upon for situations that were beyond ordinary.
Why now? His thoughts surged, a complex web of possibilities forming at lightning speed. This wasn’t a coincidence. Harry wouldn’t use the code unless there was something wrong. The idea of Harry needing space, the words of the letter, they didn’t line up with what Spencer had come to understand about him. Harry wasn’t someone to disappear without explanation, and certainly not with their emergency code written in the letter.
Spencer inhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay logical. If Harry had time to embed a message, then he wasn’t completely powerless. But that also meant he wasn’t safe. And Spencer had no idea where he was.
He read the letter again, his eyes skimming over the words. I need to step away for a while. He paused. It’s not about you—it’s about me needing some space to figure things out. Spencer felt his pulse quicken, his mind whirring through the potential implications. No, Harry wouldn’t phrase it like that. Not when we’ve talked about this kind of thing before. This isn’t about space.
He turned the letter over in his hands, his fingers tracing the edges. The rational part of his brain was working overtime, trying to process the simplest explanation. It must be a message. A way to tell me something's wrong without directly saying it. Spencer’s heart began to race in spite of his best efforts to stay calm. He could feel the unease growing, creeping up his spine like a chill.
Without wasting another second, Spencer reached for his phone. His mind was already racing through the most likely possibilities, but the fear of what those possibilities might be didn’t slow him down. His fingers flew across the screen as he dialed Harry’s number, the silence on the other end of the line an unmistakable answer. No response. Dammit, Harry, Spencer thought, his pulse pounding in his ears. Why aren’t you answering?
He tried again. And again. But the emptiness remained.
This isn’t just a break up. This is something bigger. Spencer’s voice was low, a quiet certainty settling in his gut. He couldn’t just wait. He had to act.
“Think, Reid,” he muttered to himself, pacing the small apartment.
His mind sharpened as he pieced together the puzzle. Harry wouldn’t use the code for mocking. Whatever’s happening, I need to find him. Now.
Spencer snapped the phone shut, his thoughts no longer scattered but laser-focused. Every part of him knew this wasn’t a routine call for help, this was something far more dangerous. With a final glance at the letter, Spencer grabbed his jacket, his mind already running through the steps of what needed to be done.
His fingers hovered over his phone for a second before he made a decision. He needed more information before acting, but one thing was clear — this wasn’t a breakup letter. And if Harry thought Spencer would believe it was, then whoever had made him write it didn’t know him well enough.
That was their mistake.
Spencer’s mind raced as he pulled up to the building where Harry had been living. He barely registered the drive over; his thoughts were still tangled around the letter and the unanswered calls. Every moment that passed without hearing from Harry made his chest tighten with worry.
The building loomed in front of him, quiet and still in the early morning light. Spencer’s eyes flickered over the familiar structure, the windows dark, and the air cold with the hint of dawn. He didn’t even have to blink twice. He was already out of the car and heading toward the entrance before his mind fully caught up.
He reached the buzzer and pressed it, his finger lingering longer than necessary as he waited for a response. His stomach twisted. The sense of urgency in the letter had only grown stronger in his mind, as if something had shifted in the world around him. A moment later, the door clicked open, and Spencer stepped inside, his shoes clicking on the tiles as he made his way toward the elevator. His hand hovered over the button, but the elevator was taking too long. He couldn’t waste any more time. With a frustrated sigh, he dashed up the stairs, his heart beating in a quick rhythm that matched the urgency driving him forward. When he reached the door to Harry’s apartment, he knocked loudly, not caring how it sounded. He needed answers, and he needed them now. The door swung open to reveal a man in his late thirties, his expression one of polite indifference. Spencer frowned, not immediately recognizing the face. The man wore a suit, and a badge with the name “Sam.”
“Can I help you?” Sam asked, his voice cordial, but there was something in his eyes that flickered when he saw Spencer’s tense posture.
“I’m looking for Harry,” Spencer said quickly, his voice tight with concern. “He was supposed to be here. Is he around?”
The man paused for a beat, then glanced past Spencer, as if expecting someone else. “Harry... He doesn’t live here anymore.”
Spencer blinked, the words not immediately registering in his brain. “What? No, that’s—” He stopped, his thoughts racing, trying to process the shift in reality. “What do you mean, he doesn’t live here?”
Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “His rent was canceled a few days ago. He moved out. I was told there was no forwarding address or anything. Just... gone.” He shrugged. “Sorry, man. I’m just the landlord, I don’t know the details.”
Spencer felt a cold wave wash over him. His grip tightened on the doorknob as his mind spun. No forwarding address? His eyes scanned the hallway, looking for any sign of Harry. But there was nothing, no hint of him, no trace. Just empty space, silent walls, and an overwhelming sense of dread creeping up his spine.
“Do you have any idea where he went?” Spencer asked, his voice tighter now, more urgent.
The landlord shook his head. “No clue. He paid for the month, then just... left. I’m sorry, man, I really don’t know anything else.”
Spencer stood there for a moment, silent, his mind racing. Harry was gone. Without a word, without a trace. This doesn't make sense. He wouldn’t just disappear. He left me that letter, but...
Spencer’s eyes dropped to the ground, then back up to the man in front of him. “Was there anything strange? Anyone else involved?” he asked, his voice sharper now.
“Nope,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Just Harry. He came and went like always. No strange behavior. If you’re close, I’d try looking around town. That’s all I can say.”
Spencer nodded slowly, his pulse racing. He could feel the weight of this, feel it pressing in on him like a physical force. He thanked the man, though the words felt hollow in his mouth, and turned away.
He left the building and made his way back to his car, his mind still racing. Harry was gone. Disappeared, just like that. And the only thing he had was a letter, a code, and the gut-wrenching feeling that something far worse was happening, something Spencer hadn’t yet understood. As Spencer sat in his car, staring at the road ahead, his mind was already racing through probabilities. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, the sensation of it grounding him even as his thoughts flitted from one possibility to the next. He couldn’t shake the feeling that things were spiraling in a direction he wasn’t ready for.
This doesn’t make sense, he thought. Harry wouldn’t just disappear. Not without a word, not without a reason. Spencer’s eyes narrowed as he tried to form a clear picture of what could be happening, his mind quickly shifting to the statistical side of things.
He began categorizing everything in his mind, trying to fit it into a recognizable pattern.
No sign of a struggle, Spencer reminded himself, running his hand over his face. But the absence of evidence didn’t mean there wasn’t something wrong. If it were an abduction, he mused, it wasn’t a messy one. No forced entry, no signs of violence. He glanced back at the building once more, but all he saw was the same unassuming apartment complex, as if nothing had changed. But everything had changed.
But this felt off. If Harry had been taken, Spencer reasoned, he would have had to have been targeted specifically. But for what purpose? His fingers tapped against the wheel as he considered the statistics. Abduction cases with no prior warning, statistics show that around 65% of these are connected to someone close to the victim. Domestic, personal. It’s rare to find random kidnappings without any ties to the person. His breath caught in his throat. Was Harry being targeted by someone he knew? Someone he hadn’t mentioned?
What about ransom? The idea flickered through his mind again. He couldn’t imagine Harry being involved in anything that would warrant a ransom demand. Harry had been quiet about his personal life lately, but Spencer knew him well enough to know that he didn’t have enemies, at least not ones who would resort to something as extreme as this. No, ransom didn’t seem likely.
Then there was the possibility of something even more chilling — murder. Spencer forced the thought away, but the numbers were hard to ignore. If the disappearance was a murder and the body was hidden... The chances of it being discovered in the first 48 hours were slim, if the person responsible had planned it well enough. But murder, statistically, was often accompanied by other factors — like violence at the scene or signs of forced entry. And the absence of those signs...
No, it didn’t fit. This is too clean, Spencer thought, too calculated. But the more he processed it, the more he realized that the cleanest disappearances were often the ones that made the best cases. Someone who knew what they were doing. Someone who had planned this meticulously.
The idea that Harry might be somewhere, hiding out, trying to protect himself... was it possible? Could he have run for some reason?
Statistically, people who went off the grid tended to leave something behind, whether it was a pattern, a trail of behavior, a signal. Harry had left the letter with the code. Maple. Spencer’s pulse quickened again. That had to mean something. A message? A warning?
“Think, Reid,” he muttered to himself. “Think.” He had to use the numbers to guide him, had to figure out what this all meant.
A series of flashing possibilities ran through his mind. Could this be someone trying to force Harry to disappear? Someone who wanted him out of the picture, someone with power over him? Spencer’s thoughts began to stack on top of each other: the lack of evidence, the clean break from the apartment, the silence.
What does that point to?
Abduction by someone with power, someone who wanted to remain hidden, wanted to make sure Harry would stay out of sight. It clicked, who would want Harry to be gone from DC so badly that they’d make him vanish without a trace?
But if it was true... what did that mean for Harry? Spencer’s hands tightened on the wheel once again, the numbers, the patterns, becoming more chaotic as his mind spun out of control.
He had no proof, no direct evidence, but instinct — his statistical brain — was telling him that this wasn’t a random disappearance. Something was wrong. And Reid might need help.
"Give me my robe, put on my crown;
I have immortal longings in me."
— William Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra