ENG_Can I hunt your mind?

"...Greetings, colleagues."

The conference hall, already occupied by about twenty people, fell silent instantly. A tall man stepped in and stopped by the doorway. He didn't resemble the typical professors Caitlyn had encountered during her university years. A designer suit, impeccably styled hair, neatly trimmed mustache, and glasses that perfectly complemented his look.

"My name is Hans Gustav Gross."

His gaze swept across the room, lingering on Caitlyn, if only for a second.

"I am a profiler, an expert in behavioral analysis."

He spoke as though the audience held little interest in him, and if given the choice, he would gladly trade this lecture for a cup of coffee and a sandwich at the nearest café.

"My job is to delve into the darkest recesses of the human mind. I have worked on the most complex cases—child abductions..."

He strolled further into the room, gripping the edge of the lectern with both hands and leaning forward slightly.

"...serial crimes, brutal murders, sexual violence. Forensic science is a remarkable tool, yet even it has its limits. Crime is not merely a crime scene or the traces left behind—it is a story."

A murmur of skeptical whispers began to spread through the hall.

"Every small detail is a means of piercing the perpetrator's consciousness. It is like unraveling a tangled thread—finding the strand that leads to the cause. And from there to the culprit. A puzzle, if you will."

…

"...saturday evening."

Allowing herself to tune out the monotonous, lengthy parental monologues that seemed to repeat almost every night, Caitlyn replayed the morning's events in her head. "Don't waste your talent in this miserable hole," they had handed her a stamped application form from the Bureau of Criminal Investigation, with a professor's business card carefully attached. "This offer has no expiration date. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be going."

It took Caitlyn two hours and a cup of black coffee with a balm to muster the courage to drop the envelope into the mailbox and dial an unfamiliar number.

"Caitlyn?!" her mother's sharp voice tore her from her thoughts, snapping her back to reality. "I am waiting for an answer." The woman tilted her head and let out an exasperated tongue click when she was met with a bewildered stare. The knife and fork scraped against the plate, producing an unpleasant screech. "Ignoring us again?"

"No, I just—" Caitlyn fidgeted with a silk napkin, "—today was a hectic day at work..."

"Chasing junkies and vagrants between city blocks again? When will you tire of it?" Mrs. Kiramman asked, her well-practiced, indifferent tone tinged with condescension.

Caitlyn barely mustered the resolve to take a deep breath and cast an irritated glance from beneath her lashes. She wanted to respond, but any justification would waste time.

"Never mind. What were we discussing?"

"The Tallises are hosting a formal dinner," Cassandra spoke, lifting her wine glass slowly and taking a delicate sip. "You are invited. I sincerely hope you will spare some of your precious time to show respect to our friends." She placed the glass on the table with an audible clink, drawing Caitlyn's gaze toward it.

"I will do my best, Mother."

"That's pleasant to hear. Perhaps Jace will be persuasive enough for you to listen to him and return to a proper job?"

"Not this again," Caitlyn muttered, pouring another glass of wine and downing it faster than she intended. She endured twenty minutes of heated argument—seven minutes longer than last. A new personal record! She decided she would reward herself with a chocolate medal.

As she left her parents' house, she was bold enough to slam the iron door behind her, leaving her mother's disapproving gaze behind.

"The smug look on your face tells me you had an absolutely delightful evening with your folks." Maddie greeted her with her usual cheery grin, pushing open the car door. Caitlyn sighed, slid into the seat, and immediately slumped down, covering her tired face with her hands. It was a relief that her colleague had agreed to drive her home. "I get that you're in full-on rebellious mode, but at least buckle up."

"Very funny."

The empty streets outside the window were oddly soothing.

"How'd they take the news?"

"What news?"

"Right. Will you write it on a Christmas card?"

"I'll send it via registered mail. Should give me a week's head start to disappear somewhere they can't find me."

"Markus will rat you out first."

"As if that would save him from hell after he failed his primary duty of making my life a living nightmare."

"Ha! Serves him right. You celebrating?"

There was no answer, only a shrug, and a distant gaze. Caitlyn didn't want to disappoint her colleague with a refusal. She had few true friends who weren’t just cozying up to her family for their own benefit.

"There's a nice place near our precinct. Good reviews."

"Friday?"

"Perfect." The car stopped at a red light, and Maddie, out of habit, started tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel. "Nervous?"

"Mmm?"

"You've always been fearless, but the Bureau." she whistled. "That's a whole new level."

"The first thing they’ll have me doing is sorting useless paperwork. Truly a test of courage. Give it some time, and they might even let me dispose of evidence without worrying I'll accidentally inhale some white powder from a box."

"Pfft! Like that would stop you from getting involved in some cartel scheme?" Maddie patted Caitlyn's shoulder. "We both know the answer. And I'll be the one hauling you out of some basement. Actually," she added more seriously, "I overheard something... Honestly, Markus was yelling into the phone so loud that everyone heard. That fancy professor came specifically for you. So... I doubt that morning's circus was just to stick you behind a desk."

"I'm used to basements."

"Somehow, I doubt your room has anything in common with where you might end up."

"You're exaggerating."

"People care about you. Remember that, and promise you won't be in danger unless absolutely necessary."

"Yes, Mom, I know. You didn't have to drive me," Caitlyn laughed, shaking her head.

"Just promise."

"Everything will be fine. I promise."

"I’ll pretend I believe you. Here's your stop, ma'am."

"Text me when you get home?"

"Of course."

A black cat purred in satisfaction, stretching as the hallway light clicked on. Caitlyn kicked off her damn heels, finally tossing the bundle of keys into the ceramic dish by the door before collapsing onto the soft carpet in the middle of the room. Her head spun—either from the alcohol or the endless stream of thoughts.

"Crazy day," she murmured. "Can you believe it? They offered me a new position. At the Bureau of Criminal Investigation. Insane, right?"

The cat merely yawned, stretched its claws, and leisurely padded toward the kitchen.

"Of course, all you care about is food. Typical."

Junior Officer Nolan, [20:42]

Home

Don't stay up too late.

Good night.

The messages remained unread. Meanwhile, Caitlyn methodically ironed another crisp white shirt, smoothing out every crease. She cast fleeting glances at the television, where an old favorite series was playing—now nothing more than an irritating background noise. What used to be comforting only amplified her unease. Next on her list was reading.

"Think I'll manage?" She set aside a collector's edition of Conan Doyle, a birthday gift from her friends given half in jest. It didn't help. The words blurred, forcing her to reread each line three times.

"Wish I had your indifference," she sighed, stroking the cat, who had curled beside her, purring melodically.

At precisely seven in the morning, the alarm in apartment 516 screeched obnoxiously, eliciting a groan of pure irritation from its owner. Caitlyn growled in frustration and hurled the wretched device against the wall.

The coffee in the cezve hissed and bubbled dangerously as it neared the rim. The eggs on the pan sizzled in accompaniment. A few pieces of fruit completed the ideal breakfast. Though, somehow, it always tasted better when someone else made it. One of the downsides of living alone is having no personal chef.

"Like a schoolgirl," Caitlyn muttered at her reflection while fastening a thin silk ribbon beneath her collar. "Just missing a backpack full of books."

Dressed in her favorite sapphire-blue suit—a sort of personal uniform—she took a deep breath.

"Well, at least my hair looks decent. Wish me luck, furball."

The Bureau was a chaotic beehive where everyone seemed to be darting from floor to floor, seizing every opportunity to cut one another's throats for a more prestigious assignment. Or at least, that was the impression they gave.

"I knew you'd accept," Grayson appeared out of nowhere, grabbed Caitlyn's shoulder, and pulled her into a half-embrace. "Welcome to the pack. Don't worry, you won't have to witness this madness. We work one floor down. It's quieter there."

She gestured toward the elevator. "There are five of us. Me. That pain in the ass, Hans—you've met him, he recruited you. Loris, our driver, also handles overly aggressive suspects or witnesses. You might want to tell him how you take your coffee; he oversees supplies. And Steb—"

They stopped before a thin young man meticulously sorting through stacks of folders.

"Our record keeper. He handles all the paperwork. Doesn't talk much."

"Pleasure to meet you," Caitlyn extended her hand.

"Now, onto personal matters," Grayson pushed open her office door, motioning for Caitlyn to enter. Everything was neatly arranged: dark wood furniture, towering bookshelves, meticulously stacked papers, and a lingering scent of tobacco. She gestured toward the large chair across from her desk.

"You mind?" she asked, pulling a slim silver cigarette case from her pocket and pausing for permission.

Caitlyn barely shook her head.

"Thanks. Everyone here has their vices. You'll find yours soon enough." Grayson exhaled a plume of smoke. "Right. Your badge. Your ID. Just a trinket, really, but civilians love it. And most importantly—your service weapon. Carry it responsibly. No shooting, annoying neighbors. Keep it in a safe. Got it?"

"Of course! Yes! Absolutely!"

"Kid, relax. Also—heels."

"I prefer—"

"God, it's not about dress code. We walk so damn much your feet will be raw by day three. Take advice from an experienced woman."

She took another slow drag from her cigarette.

"And another thing—pack a separate travel bag. You'll be going on assignments often. Save yourself the hassle."

"Understood."

"Good. Welcome to the team. Steb will show you your desk."

Mom, [21:01]

When were you going to tell me? Decisions like this aren't made without consulting!

Caitlyn, [21:30]

I'm not in the mood to talk.

Mom, [21:31]

Of course. As always.

Was the knock on the door unexpected? Yes. Was she surprised to see Maddie standing on her doorstep? Not at all. No one else dropped by unannounced.

"Good evening, Detective. Looking sharp," Junior Officer Nolan grinned, handing Caitlyn a small, tidy bouquet of flowers. She let out a surprised sigh. "What? A little first-day gift."

"Thanks, um… unexpected. Give me a minute to finish getting ready?"

"Take your time. Still got that scruffy mutt? Or did he run off?" Maddie teased before flinching at a hiss from the shadows. "And there it is. Why don't you just send it to a shelter? Especially with your schedule."

"Don't mess with Krag. He keeps me company on dark nights," Caitlyn murmured, stroking the cat's soft fur. The irritation melted into gentle purring. "Good boy."

"I could keep you company, too."

"You've got enough on your plate. He does just fine."

"Fair enough. So, how's the new job? Decent coworkers? Or just a bigger swamp?" Maddie flopped onto Caitlyn's bed, making herself home as always.

"Too early to tell. Just getting up to speed."

"Mmm. Lots of gore?"

"Didn't know you liked that sort of thing," Caitlyn chuckled. "I'm still setting up my workspace. No assignments yet. Grayson's, however, is different from Markus's—more human, better leadership."

"Any cute girls?"

"Uh, didn't notice." Caitlyn blinked, scratching her head. Romance—especially workplace romance—was the last thing on her mind. "You know how I am."

"Yeah, yeah. Career first flings later. Heard it a thousand times."

"I'd appreciate it if you stopped bringing it up," Caitlyn said, not meaning for it to sound so abrupt. She softened her tone. "Alright, let's go."

Their night took an unexpected turn. Instead of a restaurant, they ended up at a dingy food stall with plastic chairs, unhealthy snacks, and suspiciously strong liquor.

"This is disgusting," Caitlyn laughed, twirling a grilled octopus in a thick, tar-like sauce on a toothpick. "Are you sure this is edible?"

"Pardon me, milady, for serving you peasant slop. I'll have you know this is the most expensive thing on the menu."

"Well, if it's the finest delicacy, I suppose I won't argue," Caitlyn smirked, watching Maddie's expression shift. She'd think her friend was flirting if she didn't know better. And those fleeting touches—her lips brushing against Caitlyn's cheek, her arms lingering just a second too long—left her with questions.

"Alright, drunkard, I'm calling you a cab."

"I could crash at yours."

"Sorry, I've only got one bed."

"That a problem? C'mon, don't act like you don't love your creature comforts. Fine, fine. Cab it is."

Caitlyn shut the taxi door and watched the vehicle disappear around the corner. The warm night air settled around her as she strolled home, reveling in the rare tranquility. Not a soul in sight. Two full days off ahead.

A notification flickered on her phone screen as soon as she unlocked it—her mother, predictably, reminding her about the dinner party. Similar messages followed from Jace and Mel. Among them, Mel's name stood out the most. She was the only one Caitlyn actually wanted to see.

Monday morning.

"Rough weekend?" Grayson greeted her at the entrance, holding the door open. "Sometimes you really should take a break. Though, with a mother like yours," she clicked her tongue, "I'm surprised you’re still alive. And here."

"You know my mom?"

"Had the pleasure of meeting her. Only over the phone, though," Grayson smirked. "Learned a lot about myself, apparently."

"So, am I fired?"

"Dream on," her boss shot back playfully. "I don't give up that easily. Loris! Get off your ass. We've got some gifts from the Justice Department. Grab them."

"Did she threaten you?"

"Caitlyn, I'm not Markus," Grayson said dryly. "I have fewer weak spots. And fewer people know what they are. So let me do my job as your boss, and you do yours as my subordinate. Deal?" This time, her tone was sharper.

"Yes," Caitlyn replied, trying to hide her unease.

"Good. Now, to work."

Grayson turned her attention to the neatly stacked boxes Loris had placed on the desk. "Our old friend is back on the hunt," she muttered, flipping through a stack of photographs. With each passing image, her expression darkened.

"Her name was Karen Sparks." A standard portrait from a family album slid onto the table. "Twenty-five. Unmarried. Recently, she moved into a rented apartment—not the cheapest area, closer to her parents. Saturday night, out clubbing with friends. They split up around midnight. By Sunday morning, she was found at a local dump. Money and jewelry untouched."

The following images Grayson tossed onto the table were gruesome—too much mutilation, too much blood, too much cruelty.

"Signs of torture, assault, and his signature 'S’ carved into her wrist. No witnesses. No leads. And the so-called detective handling the case pinned it on her ex-boyfriend—who wasn't even in town that day. We're starting from scratch."

"How many victims so far?" Caitlyn asked, picking up a photo.

"Five," Professor Gross muttered, pulling up a chair. "They had nothing in common—different social backgrounds, ages, appearances, professions. The only link? They were all alone. No sloppy notes left behind?"

"Maybe. Those idiots could've lost it," Grayson shrugged. "Plan of action—Kiramman, you're searching her apartment. Loris, go with her. I don't need a sixth victim. Goss, you're with me—witness interviews. Steb? Stop hugging the damn water cooler. Sort everything and get us copies of the file."

"Got it, ma'am."

Seeing bodies wasn't new to her, but never one this mutilated. For the first time, she understood her mother's concern. Automatically, she set a reminder: "Call Mom tonight."

"Still can't believe people are capable of this."

"This isn't the worst you'll see. Consider yourself lucky," Loris quipped.

"What's your bad habit?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. "If it's not a secret?"

"Boringly predictable," he smirked, starting the car smoothly. "Drink wine, stay alive."

"What?"

"Whiskey at night keeps me from losing it. Gross blows off steam, throwing darts at the bar. Steb? Bet he's licking stamps or something. No other way to explain why he's so slow."

The ride was quiet, except for the radio hum and the occasional honk from impatient drivers.

"So, this the newbie everyone's talking about, Loris? Not bad. Hey, sweetheart, got plans tonight?" A sharp whistle stung Caitlyn's ears as she exited the car. She barely spared the grinning officer a glance.

"Ignore it."

"Same script, different guy," Caitlyn muttered, stepping into the building and pressing the elevator button. "I'm used to it."

The lift arrived with a soft ding. As they stepped inside, Loris leaned against the cool metal wall. "Nice building. Oh, here we are."

The hallway stretched before them, dimly lit, the wooden floor creaking underfoot as they approached the door they needed.