Lila Archer – she had never been able to think of herself as Arnold – had never been so scared in her life. Not even when she had been staring down the barrel of Maggie's gun had she been this terrified. For over three hours straight, she had been crying, unable to make herself stop.

She heard a noise outside the room she was occupying in the NPD. Looking out the window, she saw four familiar faces and two other people with them. They would be Agents Prentiss and Rossi.

They were here. He was here. Now everything was going to be okay. No one understood her five year old fifth grader better than him. Lila had full confidence in them.

As she watched, they went in four different directions, working like a well-oiled machine. Agent Hotchner went to talk to Detective Randall and then the little bit of press that was there. Agent Jareau took out her cell phone and started calling people; Lila was pretty sure she heard the words "press conference" in each call. Agents Prentiss and Rossi looked like they were getting everything set up in a corner of the station. Agent Morgan and Spencer were heading towards the room where she had holed up and adamantly refused to leave.

And then they were there with her. As soon as Agent Morgan had shut the door behind them, she launched up out of the chair that she had been sitting in for what felt like a lifetime and flew into Spencer's arms. She had thought she was almost cried out, but as soon as she touched Spencer, she began to sob bitterly once again.

She was almost startled when he wrapped his arms around her. The last time he'd done so –at least when he wasn't drugged or drunk – had been before the Henkel incident. Yet here he was now, murmuring reassurances into her hair while Agent Morgan watched in silence.

After a minute, Spencer pulled away and said, "I'd like to do a cognitive interview with you. Can you do that?"

Lila wiped away her tears and sniffed, trying to collect herself, and nodded. "Anything."

"Hey," Spencer leaned down until he was looking her in the eye. He tenderly brushed away a stray tear before it fell from her eyelashes. "We will find her."

"But will she be okay when we do?"

"She's your daughter, Lila. Statistically though, there's a ninety-nine percent chance of it."

It had been a rhetorical question. Her daughter was missing. Her thoughts were in more than a whirl. Yet she found herself managing to smile.

And it was all Spencer's fault.

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