"Violet, come on! You're gonna be late!"

"Oh my god, no," Violet Prentiss replies dryly. "Not late for my first day at my 17th school."

She enters the kitchen of their new loft and drops her backpack on the floor beside the island, giving her mother an unimpressed look.

Emily Prentiss, in response, tilts her head and gives her daughter the same look.

She doesn't mean to – they just happen to look like clones of each other, except Violet's eyes are lighter, almost a dark green.

"Come on," Emily begs a little. "At least try to have fun today. Try to enjoy your first day."

"Super. Shall I introduce myself as Charlotte Reynolds, Megan Brown, Ella Franc? Or can I be myself this time?"

She's only saying it to get a rise out of her mother. She knows that they no longer have to be Lauren and Charlotte Reynolds, their aliases during their time in France while her mother was working for the CIA.

Emily just gives her a look and continues double-checking her bag, to make sure she has everything.

"Well, on the bright side," Emily says, trying to lift Violet's spirits. "You're officially a sophomore!"

"Magnifique," Violet replies, her tone as monotonous as ever.

"Je t'aime, tu sais," Emily replies, her eyes softening as she looks at her daughter.

"Mmhmm," Violet mumbles, chewing her lip as she drops a can of Diet Coke into her bag.

"Hey," Emily says, tipping Violet's chin up slightly.

She used to do this when Violet was small. Shorter than her, at least. Somewhere along the last few years, Violet grew. She's just as tall as her mother now.

"Last move for a long time," she tells Violet. "I promise."

Violet's eyes glance down. She's not mad at her mother, not really. She's just mad that they had to leave France.

Emily runs a palm over Violet's cheek and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Vous et moi?" Emily asks.

Violet exhales and gives her mother the smile that she knows she needs to see, albeit a very small one.

"Vous et moi," she replies.

"Call me if you need me," Emily says, as she pulls up in front of Violet's new school.

"Mmhmm," Violet mumbles, leaning into the backseat to get her school bag.

Emily turns her cheek to face her.

"I love you," she says.

"I love you, too," Violet replies, giving her mother a hug.

Emily squeezes her. It's the first real hug she's gotten since they arrived in Virginia a week ago.

"Have a great day, baby," she says.

"You too," Violet responds, getting out of the car.

She knows what her mother is about to say, so she says it at the same time, so they say it in unison.

"And be careful."

Emily smiles, giving Violet a look, but Violet just grins and closes the door.

She watches as Violet approaches the school. There are kids scattered all over the front lawn. Emily knows what they're capable of. The influences they carry with them and threaten to wave in front of her daughter.

Luckily, Violet's smart. Smarter than even she is. That's why she's the youngest in her class every year; why she picks everything up quickly; and why Emily knows she doesn't have to worry about her the way some parents do.

Violet's an old soul and she can be an introvert, and she's never needed a huge clan of friends around. Just a select few she can trust. Kids her age sometimes think she's weird, because she's so quiet and is well travelled and has interests outside of shopping and talking about boys. Sometimes they think she's a snob because she's shy. Luckily Violet doesn't care what other people think about her, but Emily still wants her to have friends and be happy.

The best friend she had in France was an octogenarian who lived downstairs in their apartment building. His name was Luc, and he and Violet spent their days playing chess and listening to classical music. Leave it to her daughter to befriend the oldest person on the block.

Before Violet enters the school she turns her head. She knows her mother will be waiting there, until she disappears inside. She offers her a small smile, which Emily returns, and then she's gone.

Her phone rings as she's driving to Quantico.

Emily rolls her eyes, seeing her mother's name appear on the caller ID.

"Hello, Mother," she says, after tapping her Bluetooth.

"Good morning, Emily," Elizabeth Prentiss replies. "Would it kill you to be a little more genial?"

"Maybe," Emily replies drily.

She can pretty much see her mother's eyes roll from across the Atlantic Ocean.

"How's my darling granddaughter?" Elizabeth asks.

"She's fine," Emily replies. "I just dropped her off."

"Dropped her off? Aren't you going to see her inside?" Elizabeth demands.

"We went to the school a few days ago and filled out all the paperwork," Emily replies, irritated that her mother is insinuating that Emily is doing wrong by Violet. "Even walked around a little and she met some of the teachers."

"Oh," Elizabeth replies. "Well how is she? Poor thing, being shuffled around so."

"Mother, you moved me around five different countries while I was growing up," Emily retorts.

Elizabeth chooses to ignore this.

"Will you have her call me tonight? I sent her a text message but she hasn't replied. She has her phone, doesn't she?"

"Yes, Mother, she has her phone," Emily replies, exhaling. "She's not in a talkative mood right now. I'm sure she'll message you back."

"Well do have her call me," Elizabeth repeats.

"Alright," Emily sighs. "I have to go, I'm driving to work."

"Don't forget to tell Aaron I said hello."

"Yes, Mother. I said I would."

She gets off the phone, closing her eyes slowly as she takes a deep breath. Her mother has a way of making her feel like scraping the skin off of her own face.

She fidgets with her fingers, picking at the skin around her cuticles. She knows she shouldn't; her nails look awful, but she's nervous. She has her box of belongings with her as she waits for Aaron Hotchner to arrive. She's flawless at coming across as anything but anxious. So when Aaron walks through the door, Emily stands up and puts a polite smile on her face.

"Hello," Aaron says.

He's better looking than she imagined. Dark hair, dark eyes, a runner's build and a stern expression.

"Hi," Emily replies, holding out her hand. "Emily Prentiss."

"Aaron Hotchner," he says. "Prentiss. Are you related to Ambassador Prentiss?"

"Yes, she's my mother," Emily replies.

"Oh," he nods, placing his briefcase beside his desk. "Be sure to tell her I said hello. How is she?"

"She's great," Emily answers.

Aaron nods and a dreaded silence falls upon them.

"So, where should I put my stuff?" Emily ventures.

"I'm sorry?" Aaron frowns, confused.

"My stuff? The chief told me you'd let me know," Emily replies.

"I'm sorry, but I think there's been a mistake," Aaron says.

She waits in his office while he goes to talk to the chief, Erin Strauss.

Fantastic first day, she thinks to herself.

Which turns her mind to Violet and how her day is going.

"Violet Prentiss?" the young English teacher, Max Warner, smiles warmly at her.

Violet nods once from her seat. She got here early enough to get a seat in the front row, far corner. Where she always sits.

"It's so great to have you with us, Violet," Mr. Warner says. "I hear you've spent the last couple of years in France?"

"Yeah," Violet replies, feeling herself blush. She almost replied in French, out of habit.

She hates having to speak in front of the class.

"This must be a huge change," Mr. Warner goes on.

"I've lived here before," Violet answers. "For a couple years, when I was younger."

"You must move around a lot."

"Unfortunately."

"Well, I'm sure you've seen some really awesome stuff, living in Europe and everything."

She nods politely, wishing he'd get on with the class.

"I know everyone," he looks meaningfully at the class, "will make sure you feel welcome here at Westminster."

"Thanks," she gives a small smile and shifts a little in her chair.

Mercifully, Mr. Warner gets on with the lesson. It's November, so Violet hasn't missed much school. Mr. Warner sets a copy of The Catcher in the Rye on her desk. Violet barely suppresses a curled lip.

"Don't worry," the guy across from her leans over. "You haven't missed anything. We're still on the first chapter."

The boy smiles kindly and Violet can't help but smile back. His shiny brown hair is perfectly styled, and he looks like he just stepped away from a photo shoot.

"I'm Matthew," the boy says quietly, resting his chin in his palm. "So, France, huh? I bet the guys over there are fucking hot."

Violet grins.

"Oh, oui," she replies, a little sarcastic. "Some, at least."

Matthew laughs.

"I'm afraid to ask where you got those sickening boots from," he goes on. "If you say France, I might die."

"Well before you tie the noose, I'm sure you can get them here. Or online," Violet replies. "They're Steve Madden."

"I fucking love them," Matthew says. "Your style is sick."

"Oh," Violet says, glancing down at her outfit. Black skinnies, plain t-shirt, scarf, cardigan. She felt pretty plain when she left the house. "Thank you."

Mr. Warner, still talking, walks in front of them and places his hand on top of Matthew's desk; a quiet plea for them to shut up and pay attention.

Matthew mimics grabbing onto Mr. Warner's hand flirtatiously and Violet bites her lip to stop herself from laughing, and opens up the binder she already has marked for English.