Fragments of the Oracle
Chapter 1: Prologue & The One Who Left
"You will know me by what I leave behind."
— The Oracle
Lakewood, Ohio – Crime Scene
The house was quiet—too quiet for the blood it held.
In the suburban stillness of Lakewood, Ohio, the front porch light buzzed with a dying flicker, casting uneven shadows across the wooden steps. Inside, the silence pressed down like a vacuum. No music. No television. Just the soft ticking of a kitchen clock, still working, unaware its owners were not.
Special Agent Aaron Hotchner moved through the living room first, weapon drawn, his expression unreadable. Behind him, Rossi stepped lightly, scanning the surroundings with seasoned eyes.
The air smelled faintly of copper and lavender air freshener. In the dining room, a dinner table was set for three—two plates with untouched pasta, a third empty. A child's booster seat tucked neatly against the chair.
"Victims?" Hotch asked quietly.
"Two confirmed," came Morgan's voice from upstairs. "Mother and son. Same signature as the others—posed, symmetrical, left hand over the heart."
Garcia's voice crackled over the comms. "Guys, I got something. There's a note. Handwritten. Same paper as the first two scenes."
Rossi found it before anyone else did—slipped inside a small, wooden box on the mantelpiece. No fingerprints. Just a single sheet of folded paper.
He opened it carefully.
BAU,
You found the dinner late, but the show's still going.
Third course is on its way.
Follow the crumbs—if you can stomach them.
—The Oracle
Hotch's jaw clenched. "That's three in two weeks."
"And now they're addressing us directly," Rossi murmured, eyes narrowing. "They're not just taunting. They're escalating."
Reid entered from the hallway, holding a small figurine. "This was left on the child's pillow. A wooden chess knight. Same carving style as the figure left in Atlanta."
Garcia's voice cut back in, urgent this time. "Guys... I found something else. There's a case file in the digital footprint—buried deep. From twelve years ago. Not public. It mentions Gideon... and a name I haven't heard before."
Hotch turned. "Whose name?"
"Calyx Vega."
A heavy pause settled in the room.
Rossi looked up slowly. "I haven't heard that name since Gideon disappeared."
Reid went pale. "That's not possible. Vega left the Bureau."
Hotch's voice dropped to a whisper. "Then why is the Oracle calling them out?"
Outside, the wind picked up—brushing against the porch like someone was watching. Waiting.
And the chess game had only just begun.
Los Angeles, California – 2:14 a.m.
"You don't forget the Bureau. Not really. Especially when it never forgets you."
Calyx Vega hadn't slept in thirty-six hours. The monitors didn't care.
Four glowing screens, flickering across scattered files and old post-it notes, painted the apartment in the ghostlight of memory. Most of it wasn't official Bureau data—some of it couldn't even be found through legal means. But the Oracle had crossed a line.
And Calyx? Calyx had never been good at boundaries.
A photo sat open on the main screen. A child. Eyes closed. Laid carefully on a bed with their hands positioned neatly—left over heart. A knight chess piece tucked beneath one palm.
Too clean. Too purposeful.
Not a message. A challenge.
The mouse cursor hovered over the image for a moment longer.
Then:
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Sharp. Patterned. Unmistakable.
Calyx's eyes didn't widen. Instead, they calmly reached for the Glock in the drawer and slid to the side of the door.
"Quantico's a long way from here."
The man behind the door didn't flinch.
"And you're a long way from staying gone."
They opened the door halfway.
Aaron Hotchner stood there in silence, looking exactly as Calyx remembered—minus a few new creases around the eyes and that constant edge of grief he never talked about.
Calyx stepped aside.
"You're either desperate," they said, "or bored. And I don't believe in bored profilers."
BAU Jet – 5:41 a.m.
Morgan's voice dropped as he leaned across the aisle. "You're putting them back on the team?"
Hotch didn't look up from his notes. "I'm not doing anything. They're already three steps ahead of us. We either let them work with us, or they keep chasing this alone—and get killed doing it."
"You remember what happened the last time they were on a case with Gideon, right? They don't play well."
"Neither do you," Hotch replied, pointedly.
Across the aisle, Reid sat near Calyx, observing with cautious curiosity.
"You memorized the victim list already."
"It's not hard. Your spacing was predictable. Red string on the left column, yellow on the right. You alternate when you're anxious."
Reid blinked. "I—what?"
Calyx didn't smile. Just returned to the files.
"You're out of pattern. That means this case has you rattled."
Quantico, Virginia – Same Morning
Garcia tapped rapidly at her keyboard, eyebrows furrowed behind pink lenses.
"I ran every permutation of the Oracle's phrasing against our digital archives, and I got one hit—a transcribed exit interview from 2013. It matches almost word-for-word a phrase used by…"
She stopped, glancing at the incoming video feed.
"Hi," Calyx said flatly from the jet, staring straight into the camera. "Miss me?"
Garcia dropped her smoothie.
This arrangement keeps the tension sharp while improving clarity. It also enhances formatting for pacing and atmosphere: scene breaks, dialogue tags, and spatial positioning reinforce the suspense.
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