Subtextual

The drive through downtown Seattle was quiet.

Too quiet.

Rain flicked softly against the windshield, and the rhythmic swipe of the wipers did little to fill the space between them. Emily drove with one hand resting on the wheel, her eyes on the road, her jaw set like stone. JJ sat in the passenger seat, arms folded, gaze flickering between the window and the dashboard, trying not to stare.

She hated this. Not the silence—she was used to that. It was the kind of silence that had weight to it, like it was pressing down on her chest. She wanted to say something. To explain. But what would she even say?

Sorry for implying you're unprofessional because you make me feel things I'm not ready to deal with?

That wouldn’t go over well.

JJ fidgeted with the cuff of her sleeve, watching the gray cityscape blur past them. The first half of the ride had passed without a single word. No case talk, no offhand quips, not even a glance from the driver's seat.

Finally, after rehearsing a dozen variations of half-apologies in her head, JJ took a breath.

"Emily, I—"

"I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable."

Emily’s voice was even. Not cold, not warm. Just... muted. Like she’d already had this conversation with herself and finished it before JJ could get a word in.

"That wasn’t my intention," she continued, still not looking at her. "I know I can come off a certain way, and I never want to make a teammate feel uneasy. So, moving forward, I’ll keep things strictly professional."

JJ blinked. It took her a second to register the words. And longer to realize the ache they left in her chest.

Strictly professional.

She should have felt relieved. Instead, it felt like something sharp being gently twisted.

"Emily... that’s not—"

"It’s fine," Emily interrupted again, her voice clipped but still polite. "Honestly, it’s probably for the best that I know. I’m still getting my bearings with the team. I want to prove I belong here. That I can pull my weight."

JJ swallowed hard, guilt now coiling low in her gut.

Emily thought she wasn't taken seriously. Because of her. Because of what she said.

And there it was—the sting of realizing her words had landed deeper than she meant. She hadn't just shut a door; she’d made Emily question her place.

JJ turned slightly toward her, wanting to fix it, to explain that it wasn’t what she meant. That the words weren’t about Emily’s professionalism, not really. That they were about JJ’s own confusion.

But the way Emily kept her gaze locked on the road told JJ now wasn’t the time.

She sat back in her seat, jaw tight.

She wanted to fix it.

She just didn’t know how to do it without handing over every card she was still trying to hold close.

And Emily? She wasn’t asking for an apology.

She was asking for distance.

Rain tapped softly against the roof. The city kept moving around them. JJ just wished she could do the same.

---

The Keynote Precision kiosk was tucked into the far end of a strip mall—wedged between a payday loan office and a dry cleaner. A bell chimed overhead as JJ pushed open the glass door, stepping into a narrow shop that smelled faintly of metal shavings and dust.

An older woman sat behind the counter, flipping through a well-worn Reader’s Digest. She looked up, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Good afternoon,” JJ began, flashing her badge as Emily moved to stand beside her. “I’m Agent Jareau, this is Agent Prentiss. We’re with the FBI. Mind if we ask you a few questions?”

The woman’s eyes flicked to their badges, then to their faces. “Depends on the questions.”

JJ gave a measured nod. “Do you work here most days?”

“Every day,” the woman replied, guarded. “Been here thirteen years.”

“Do you handle most of the key duplication orders yourself?”

“I do.”

JJ pressed forward, gently. “We’re looking into a series of crimes involving unauthorized entry. We’re wondering if anyone came in recently requesting a batch of keys that might’ve raised red flags—multiple copies, unusual requests, that sort of thing.”

The woman’s expression flattened. “Look, people don’t come to a place like this for formality. They come because it’s fast, cheap, and private. This isn’t the kind of business where folks expect a record of what they’re doing to follow them home.”

JJ’s smile faded a notch. “So you don’t keep any transaction logs at all?”

“No names. No numbers. Cash only, most of the time. That’s the unspoken deal.”

JJ started to reply, but the woman was already closing down. She leaned back, arms crossed, ready to outlast the conversation.

Then Emily stepped forward.

Her voice was calm, her posture open.

“We’re investigating three separate abductions. All women. All taken from their homes. Their front doors weren’t kicked in, nothing was broken. Whoever did this had a key. A copy.”

She let that settle.

“They didn’t leave a door unlocked. They didn’t make a mistake. Someone violated the one place they should’ve been safest. Their homes.”

The woman didn’t speak.

Emily continued, gentler now. “I’m going to guess you live alone. Am I right?”

The woman blinked. “Yeah. So?”

“So you know what it feels like to lock your door and expect that the world stays outside. That’s what these women thought, too. And someone used a key to undo that expectation. To walk right in and take their lives apart.”

The woman shifted, her defenses slipping just slightly.

“We’re not looking to change how you run your place,” Emily said. “We’re just hoping you remember something. A face. A moment. Anything.”

Another beat of silence.

Then the woman sighed and set the magazine aside.

The silence stretched. Then the woman sighed, folding the magazine shut.

“What do you need?”

Emily stepped a little closer, careful not to spook the moment. “We’re looking for a woman. Around thirty-five, maybe a little younger. Average height. Comes off quiet. Doesn’t draw attention. Paid in cash, probably asked for different types of keys on different visits. She might’ve seemed distracted. Or just careful.”

The woman furrowed her brow, thinking. Then she nodded slowly. “There’s a girl. Not sure about her age—could be thirty, maybe older. Real soft-spoken. Doesn’t talk unless I ask something directly. Came in a couple times. Had a uniform on once, like she worked in housekeeping or janitorial.”

Emily’s eyes sharpened. “Do you remember where the uniform was from?”

The woman shook her head. “Didn’t recognize the logo. But it was light blue. Industrial type.”

Emily nodded. “Thank you. That’s more helpful than you know.”

They exchanged cards. Then Emily and JJ stepped back into the gray drizzle outside.

They walked in silence for a few steps toward the car. JJ’s mind was still tangled in the moment back at the shop. She kept replaying it—Emily's voice, how she'd leaned in without pressure, how she’d known exactly what to say.

JJ had always been good with people. That was her job. Reading, translating, guiding. But Emily—she had cut through the woman’s resistance with empathy so sharply it felt like a trick JJ didn’t know how to perform.

JJ glanced sideways as Emily unlocked the car. “Hey.”

Emily turned slightly. “Yeah?”

JJ hesitated. Her throat felt tight.

“I just... you were really good in there.”

Emily gave a small, unreadable smile. “You don’t have to say that.”

JJ frowned. “I want to.”

Emily didn’t soften, but she paused—her eyes holding on JJ’s with a flicker of something quieter, heavier. A thank-you unsaid. A wall not entirely rebuilt.

That was something. Not enough. But something.

JJ bit the inside of her cheek. “I mean it. That woman wouldn’t have said a word to me. You got through to her. That was impressive.”

Emily looked at her, finally. But the softness JJ had seen in the shop was gone now. Replaced by something guarded. “It’s just part of the job.”

JJ nodded, but the knot in her chest pulled tighter.

She wanted to say more. She wanted to tell Emily how she’d been caught off guard by her—still was. That her words earlier were clumsy and wrong. That it wasn’t Emily’s fault JJ felt like her center of gravity had shifted.

But she couldn’t. Not yet.

So she sat down in the passenger seat and said nothing.

And Emily didn’t ask.

---

Back at the Seattle precinct, the rest of the team had already gathered in the briefing room. Garcia had commandeered a desk in the corner, surrounded by screens and her usual tangle of cords and brightly colored accessories.

Hotch looked up as JJ and Emily walked in. "Find anything?"

JJ stepped forward, glancing at Emily before speaking—deliberately. Her voice was steady, but there was weight behind her words. "We talked to the woman at the key kiosk. She was hesitant to give us anything at first, didn’t want to be involved. But Emily—she handled it with real empathy. Got her to open up without pushing."

She didn’t look at Emily when she said it, but she could feel Emily glance her way, subtle and brief. JJ continued, aware of the attention now on them both.

She didn’t look at Emily when she said it, but she could feel Emily glance her way, subtle and brief. JJ continued, aware of the attention now on them both.

"The woman remembered a customer—early thirties, came in a few times asking for different types of keys, paid in cash. Said she was quiet, soft-spoken, wore a uniform once. Looked like it belonged to a cleaning service."

Emily didn’t say anything, but JJ caught the smallest shift in her expression. Not surprise—more like a quiet acknowledgment. A wall slightly eased back."

"Did she give you a name?" Gideon asked.

Emily shook her head. "No, but she remembered the uniform was light blue, industrial style. No company name she could identify."

Morgan leaned back in his chair. "That fits the profile so far. She needs to blend in. In and out without a trace. Low-income job, transient, invisible by design."

"She’s targeting women who seem to have lives she envies," Reid added. "Professionally successful, socially visible, self-contained."

"And the keys," JJ said, “are a symbol of that. Control. Access to something she doesn’t have.”

Garcia's fingers flew over her keyboard. "Give me two minutes. If she’s wearing a uniform, there has to be a contract service attached to it. Seattle’s got a dozen mid-level cleaning services that outfit their workers. I’ll narrow it down by location and client base."

They waited, quiet. Then:

"Boom," Garcia said. "Emerald City Janitorial. Light blue uniforms. Subcontracted to clean commercial properties and mid-range residential buildings. I’m cross-checking employees now against DMV photos and financial activity..."

A few beats of silence, and then a photo appeared on the monitor.

"Here we go. Talia Hart. Thirty-four. Works part-time. Lives alone in a basement apartment in Rainier Valley. Got flagged for petty theft six years ago, but nothing since. Fits the victim’s age range almost to a T."

Hotch straightened. "Let’s move."

Morgan was already grabbing his jacket. "On it."

Gideon checked the file Garcia printed. "No recent employer complaints, but she’s been working in proximity to at least two of the victims’ buildings."

Emily’s jaw tightened. JJ could see her mind spinning already, matching threads.

"We’ll approach the residence quietly," Hotch said. "JJ, Emily—you’re with me."

The team mobilized.

Outside, the rain had started again.

The kind that blurred windshields and softened everything—except the tension crawling under JJ’s skin as they pulled out toward the suspect’s address.