"The final bullet never hits the body. It hits the part of you that was supposed to survive." —Jason Cole
Quantico, Virginia – BAU Headquarters – 6:27 AM
The sun crept across the steel conference table, its golden warmth doing little to break the chill in the room.
Jason stood at the board, arms folded, eyes locked on a grainy security still: the Mortician walking calmly out of Gideon's cabin, hands raised, unarmed, untouched.
Hotch sat nearby, watching Jason silently. The others filtered in, subdued.
Morgan broke the quiet. "He let us see him. That wasn't a mistake."
Reid added, "He wanted to be recognized. It was a signal."
JJ leaned forward, brow furrowed. "Then why didn't he pull the trigger?"
Jason's voice was low. "Because Gideon was never his real target. Just his witness."
He turned to face them, a dull exhaustion behind his eyes.
"He wants me."
Gideon's Cabin – 8:03 AM
The morning fog clung to the trees like breath on glass. Gideon sat on the front step, hands wrapped around a thermos. Jason stood a few feet away, watching the steam curl into the cold air.
"He could've killed you," Jason said.
"He didn't need to," Gideon replied. "He's already bled me."
Jason crouched beside him, voice soft. "Why show himself now?"
Gideon didn't answer right away. Then he turned, eyes haunted.
"Because this is the end of something. For him. For me."
Jason studied him. "What does he want me to do?"
"Finish the story."
Jason stiffened. "You think he wants to die?"
"No," Gideon said. "He wants to make you choose."
BAU HQ – Garcia's Tech Room – 10:19 AM
Garcia tapped nervously at her keyboard, her eyes darting across screens like floodlights in the dark. Jason stood beside her, hands clenched behind his back.
"Okay, so," she said, "a blackmail packet hit the inboxes of six national newsrooms this morning. All from the same proxy server. Guess what it contained?"
Jason didn't move. "Let me guess. A confession?"
"Try a manifesto," she said. "Fifty-two pages. Pictures. Maps. Dates. Surveillance shots. He's tracked you for years, Jason. Since Damascus. Since before Quantico."
Jason said nothing.
Garcia's voice softened. "And at the end of it… there's a final name."
She handed him a printed page.
Jason stared.
Eleanor Cole.
His mother.
Private Residence – Outside Richmond – 1:11 PM
Jason hadn't seen her in five years.
The house was small, modest. Windchimes clinked lazily in the afternoon breeze. He stood at the door, his hand hovering near the frame longer than he should have.
Then she opened it before he knocked.
She hadn't aged. Not really. Still sharp eyes, still skeptical.
"Jason," she said quietly.
"Mom."
She stepped aside. "Come in."
He did.
Inside the House – Kitchen – 1:15 PM
They sat across from each other, tea between them. No words at first.
Then she said, "He was here. Last night."
Jason's jaw tightened. "What did he say?"
"That he used to be someone you hunted. That now, he's someone who's hunting you."
She met his eyes. "He didn't threaten me, Jason. He warned me."
Jason looked down. "He's trying to control the ending."
She shook her head. "No, sweetheart. He's trying to control you. And he knows the only person who still believes in your soul is sitting right in front of him."
A long pause.
Jason's voice cracked slightly. "I didn't want to drag you into this."
"I was always in it," she said softly. "From the day they took my son and turned him into a weapon."
Quantico – Briefing Room – 3:29 PM
Jason returned to the team with a heavy silence around him. He placed the manifesto on the table and opened it to the final page.
A time.
A location.
Griffin Quarry – 2:00 AM. One-on-one. No Bureau. No guns.
Reid frowned. "It's a trap."
Jason nodded. "Absolutely."
Hotch stepped forward. "You're not going alone."
Jason looked at him, eyes heavy but resolute.
"If I don't… he'll come after her again. Or worse. He'll come after you."
JJ stepped up beside Jason. "You walk in, and he doesn't want a conversation. He wants a mirror."
Jason's voice was steel. "Then I'll show him what I see."
That Night – Griffin Quarry – 1:58 AM
The wind howled across the cliffs, scattering dust like ash.
Jason stood at the edge of the quarry floor, empty but for two rusted mining carts and a pile of broken stone. Moonlight cast sharp shadows on the rock walls.
Then, from the darkness, he stepped out.
The Mortician.
Calm. Clean. Rifle slung across his back. No weapon in his hands.
Jason didn't flinch.
"I expected you to come with a team," the Mortician said.
"They're not far," Jason replied.
The Mortician smiled. "Good. Then they'll hear your answer."
Jason took one step forward. "This ends tonight."
"Yes," the Mortician agreed. "But not with bullets."
He pulled something from his coat.
A gun.
Jason tensed.
Then the Mortician dropped it to the ground, barrel pointed away, and slid it over.
"I want you to choose," he said. "You kill me, and you prove I was right. That some men were never meant to come home. That ghosts like us only know how to haunt."
Jason stared at the weapon.
"Or," the Mortician continued, "you walk away… and live knowing I'll never stop. That one day, I'll find someone you care about. Maybe that woman. Maybe the team."
Jason picked up the gun. Heavy. Cold.
The Mortician spread his arms.
"I want to see what you really are."
Jason raised the gun.
Pointed it straight at him.
And then—
Lowered it.
"I already know."
The Mortician blinked.
Jason stepped forward.
"You want to die because you lost your soul. I want to live because I found mine."
The team emerged from the shadows, guns raised. Morgan tackled him. Hotch cuffed him.
The Mortician didn't resist.
And Jason stood alone in the moonlight…
Weapon in hand.
And didn't pull the trigger.