It had been a long day — the kind where the sun felt too bright, the clients too loud, and the paperwork never-ending. Jimmy McGill had just finished sweet-talking a stubborn judge, getting chewed out by a parking attendant, and making exactly zero progress on a case he didn’t want in the first place. His tie was crooked, his shirt wrinkled, and he had exactly one goal left tonight: grab a gas station burrito and maybe — maybe — a cold root beer that didn’t taste like pennies.
The lab was bigger than any place Hana had ever stepped into—sterile white floors, walls lined with holographic displays, tables stacked with tech worth more than her entire neighborhood. It should have felt like stepping into the future, but for her, it mostly felt like stepping into a minefield.
Rain drummed steadily against Gotham’s rooftops, slicking brick and metal in the dim orange glow of the streetlamps. The alley below was quiet now — the crime scene tape hung loose, fluttering in the wind where GCPD had already packed up. Their cars were gone, their voices faded into the hum of the city, but she was still there.