"Yeah, the team. Did you think Marcus was the only agent working on cold cases?" Director Zola asked, lips curled in amusement as she leaned back in her swivel chair. Her eyes glinted with mischief as she watched Lena begin to squirm.

“W-well, no, of course not,” Lena said quickly, cheeks coloring under the teasing. She fiddled with the hem of her blazer, not quite sure where to rest her hands.

Before she could collect her thoughts, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Director Adebayo called, her voice smooth and confident.

The door opened to reveal Hayes—broad-shouldered, half-smirk on his face, cup of coffee in hand. But he wasn’t alone. Behind him walked another man roughly the same age as Hayes, maybe a little younger, and an older woman with wavy silver hair and a vibrant lavender blouse under a well-pressed blazer.

“Welcome in, everyone. Meet your new task force member, Lena Cross,” Adebayo said warmly. Then, with a subtle look at Hayes, she added, “Though, I’m sure you two already know all about her from Marcus.”

Hayes just shrugged. “She’s a talented kid. How could I not brag about bringing her into the fold?”

Lena’s cheeks burned. Praise always caught her off guard, but she wasn't opposed to hearing it from a senior co-worker.

“Anyway,” Director Adebayo continued, drawing out the word like a slow punctuation mark. “Why don’t you two introduce yourselves?”

The newcomers exchanged a brief look. A wordless discussion passed between them, and then the older woman stepped forward with a gentle, welcoming smile.

“Hello, dearie. I’m Dolores Reid. I don’t do much field work these days, so I guess you could say I’m the one these two push an endless tower of paperwork onto.”

She chuckled, and the two men grimaced at the accuracy. “It’s not like that,” Hayes cut in quickly. “Honestly, Lena, she’s just better at organizing case data and cross-referencing than either of us.”

Dolores leaned closer to Lena and whispered conspiratorially, “Ah, it’s fun getting those rascals to sweat. Keeps me young.” Lena giggled at the remark.

Then the man next to Dolores stepped up. He adjusted his glasses with a twitch of his fingers and offered a hesitant smile.

“M-my n-name i-is C-Colby Wh-Whittaker,” he began, voice quiet but sincere. “I’m the t-team’s on-site s-scientist. I h-handle f-forensics, f-fingerprint analysis, that k-kind of thing.”

He seemed to be in his mid-30s, but his crooked glasses, ink-smudged fingers, and slightly mismatched shirt buttons gave him an air of charming dishevelment—like someone more comfortable surrounded by microscopes than people.

Lena smiled warmly. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

“Good,” Director Adebayo said, satisfied. She pulled a manila folder from her desk drawer and handed it to Hayes. “Now that you’ve all met, here’s your next assignment.”

Hayes flipped it open. A grainy photo slipped out—an old black-and-white picture of a young woman with feathered bangs and a crooked smile.

“A summer camp counselor’s death from the ’70s?” Hayes read aloud, raising a brow. “We’ll get right on it… after we give the newbie the grand tour.”

He shot the Director a wink. Adebayo just shook her head. “Fine. Go on. And Lena? Have a great first day.”

Something about the way she said it—half genuine, half challenge—made Lena straighten her spine.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, and followed the others out the door, letting it shut softly behind her.

They walked back down the stairs Lena had come up just an hour before. She glanced around at the older style wall clocks, the faint ticking audible in the silence between footfalls. To the right of the front desk sat the elevator, slightly scuffed with age.

Hayes hit the “B” for the basement.

Elevator music crackled faintly from overhead speakers as the elevator descended. It was the soft, outdated kind—some gentle jazz melody that made Hayes tap his foot absentmindedly.

Ding.

The doors opened with a rattle.

What lay beyond felt more like a forgotten archive than an office space. The basement was dimly lit by flickering yellow bulbs, and it smelled faintly of dust and paper. Industrial metal racks lined the walls, holding countless boxes labeled in sharpie and yellowing tape. Nearby, four mismatched desks huddled in a cluster beside a humming snack and drink machine, and a dusty microwave that looked like it hadn’t been used in a long time.

To the back left corner, sealed behind glass and a heavy metal door, was the lab—neat, cold, and humming with steady fluorescent light.

“Welcome to our little corner of the Bureau,” Hayes announced. “Your desk is the one closest to the wall. If you want snacks, help yourself. If you want real food, you’ll have to go upstairs and ask the front desk to order something.”

Dolores was already brewing a cup of instant coffee, while Colby disappeared into the lab with his usual nervous energy. Hayes flopped into his chair and waved Lena over.

“Okay, field team, let’s dive in.”

He handed Lena the file. She opened it slowly.

Amelia Coventry. “Lia” to her campers. Age 22 when she died. According to the report, she’d been found at the foot of a steep wooded hill, her right leg broken, arms and face scratched from what looked like a tumble. But her death had been caused by a branch that pierced through her abdomen when she landed.

Lena swallowed. “Oh… poor Lia,” she whispered.

“Yeah. And poor us, too,” Hayes muttered. “The case was ruled an accident until someone noticed a boot print at the top of the hill that didn’t match any of the camp counselors or kids. And now here we are—nearly forty years later, trying to solve it.”

He shook his head. “How the hell are we supposed to do this with barely any forensics and witnesses who probably remember more about disco and drugs than the details?”

Lena stayed quiet for a moment, the file heavy in her hands.

‘Is this why she gave us this case? Because of what I told her?’

She looked at the photo again. The grain of the image, the angle of Lia’s smile—it all felt like it had been waiting for her. She closed the file and looked up.

“Before we do anything…can you call the others over? I need to say something.”

Hayes tilted his head in curiosity but nodded. A minute later, Dolores and Colby stood nearby, coffee in hand and lab gloves peeled off respectively.

“What’s wrong, dearie?” Dolores asked. Lena took a deep breath.

“So… the reason I was able to help with the last case so quickly is because I have this… ability,” she said slowly. “I can travel to the past. I can witness events as they happen—like I’m there.”

Dolores raised her eyebrows slightly, but said nothing.

“This started the night my mother died,” Lena added, her voice quieter. “Which is why… why no one could find me that night, Hayes.”

She dropped her gaze to the ground, bracing herself for disbelief. Or worse—rejection. But then came the sound of quiet laughter. Lena looked up in surprise to see Hayes chuckling.

“Well that explains a lot,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I always figured you found some clever hiding place during all the chaos. But this? Damn, Lena.”

“You don’t… think I’m crazy?” she asked. He smirked, nudging her shoulder with his.

“Well sure, it’s weird. But it’s also the most useful weird I’ve ever heard of. You’re like our very own walking time machine!” He leaned on the back of her chair and grinned. “So…can I tag along for this one?”

Lena couldn’t help but laugh. The knot of nerves in her chest began to unravel.

Maybe she did belong here—ghosts, gifts, and all.

To be continued…