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The fluorescent lights of the FBI behaviour lab hummed with their usual clinical indifference, but the atmosphere inside the “Behavioural Science Unit” group chat was anything but quiet.
Jack Crawford stood in the center of his office, hovering over his phone screen like a storm cloud. He watched the three dots of Beverly Katz’s typing status dance on his screen. He needed his team unified. His most volatile asset was currently drifting in the wind, refusing to engage with anyone who didn't have four legs and a coat of fur.
DIRECTOR_CRAWFORD: Katz. My office. Now.
BevLuvzKatz: On my way, Boss. Did someone die? Or did Zeller finally break the centrifuge?
Z_Man_: HEY!
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