"We should have taken off by now."

"They said we'd set off in ten minutes."

"That was twenty minutes ago, JJ."

"Morgan, sit down. We'll take off when we take off."

"You say that as if we have all the time in the world."

"He has a point, if Reid's right about the lunar phase – ritualistic aspect of the killings; we only have two nights to crack this."

"Yes, Hotch, I know," JJ sighed, rubbing her brow with the palm of her hand in exhausted frustration. It was way too early in the morning for this. "I'll go talk to the pilots again, see what's taking so long."

Just as she said those words, the plane began to shift along the runway. "Huh, problem solved."

"There's nothing I love more than flying," Rossi murmured.

They had spent a solid couple of hours dissecting down the victimology and methodology of the newest murderer and had now fallen into an impatient silence. Suddenly, a confused expression appeared on Reid's face which Morgan – who was sitting just opposite, listening to his music – couldn't help but notice. He watched as Reid looked all around the cabin, his eyes darting back and forth, up and down, out the window… All the while, his mouth was clearly working over calculations, mouthing numbers and words quietly to himself. When the look of confusion solidified into something more worried, Morgan took off his headphones and leaned forward.

"What's bothering you? You know, aside from crazy vampire-obsessed-moonlight-collecting-unicorn hunter psychopaths?"

Reid's pensive stare zeroed in on Morgan's face.

He leaned forward so their faces were barely a hands breadth away from each other, and then whispered: "This plane's going the wrong way."

"What?" he laughed; laughed more out of surprise than amusement. Though there was a little amusement given the comically frightened look on Reid's face.

"We flew too far north earlier, and I thought it was just a diversion or something – I hadn't even really noticed it when it happened – but we didn't turn back southwards to correct it. Travelling at this speed for the last hour and a half, in this direction, given the weather conditions (provided they were correctly predicted), hmm…" he trailed off, looking thoughtfully down.

"So? Where are we headed?" Morgan enquired in a neutral voice that was a compromise between concerned and entertained.

A short calculation later, Reid looked up at Morgan blankly and replied, "I don't know."

"Think we should tell the others?"

"It could be nothing. I could have imagined it?"

"Or it could be heavy traffic on the motorways of the skies and they're just taking the scenic route."

Reid nodded slowly, uncertainly. "Or it could be a hijacking."

"I suppose it could."

"Mhhmm."

"Hotch?"

Just as they began to discuss what could be done to investigate the situation, the overhead speakers crackled into life.

"We'll be landing in round about ten minutes," murmured a monotonous, unfamiliar voice.

"At which point, we ask that you all exit calmly at the rear of the plane and evacuate via the emergency exit." Another chillingly unfamiliar voice: this one barely containing its excitement beneath its officious wording.

Then that first voice again, "We'll give you, say, half an hour. A head start."

Then the little crackles again. Then silence.