wobbling on a chair, one dangerously high heel planted on the seat, trying to flatten the banner's drooping left corner with a roll of tape Okay, so — if anyone has a suggestion for how to make "welcome back from federal prison" not look like a hostage release photo op, I'm all ears. Because right now the vibes are giving parole hearing.

leaning against a desk, arms crossed, a mug of something healthy in one hand You could take the banner down.

Take the — turns, tape in her teeth — you take the banner down.

sets her bag on her desk, glancing up at the clock He's fine, you know. I saw him Thursday. He's… quieter.

Spencer Reid quiet. That used to be a normal amount of quiet. Now it's like the quiet is load-bearing.

claps his phone shut Wheels up on the cake line in five. Prentiss has him in her office. Something about re-paperwork, security clearance, the highlight of every man's return from a miscarriage of justice.

Anybody tell him?

stops. Looks around the room. Counts heads. Told him what, exactly?

deliberately, without looking up from her mug About the new recruit.

carefully peeling the tape off her fingers Okay, so the answer is no. The answer is definitively no. And I'm not going to be the one to — he's going to walk in here and the first thing he sees is a stranger in our bullpen and he's going to think she's a replacement or a liaison or —

entering, jacket over one shoulder, badge already clipped She's not a replacement. She's an addition. There's a difference, and he's a genius, he'll do the math.

Son, he's been doing math in a nine-by-six cell for three months. His math's got a different answer key now.