I suppose an answer is something. More than I've expected. The words themselves are another matter, almost nonsensical— I know that Jason has been elsewhere, beyond my reach, fighting crime the only way that he knows how. Miring himself in every last inch of it. And although I know that it's wrong, the world doesn't afford any us enough time, doesn't allow us a single minute more of sleep, and makes taking that extra second a crime. I haven't stopped him as fully as I should, and I wouldn't call that sentimentality. It's futility.

But he stands now, in the way of many things. I should return to Gotham; I don't need him to tell me that. Yet there are no details that he offers, no light that he sheds on the exit, and I can't tell if it's a trap meant for me to step unknowingly into, or if there's reluctance in his tone. What right do I have to assume anything on his part? None. Not since I made that crucial error.

So I am forced to consider all eventualities, and somehow the thought that there's more to be seen in this city seems to be the natural first step.

"Your town?" I ask, lightly incredulous. "Jason, I have not sensed a single living soul down here, aside from the two of us. Where are we?" Still slipping after each word shared, I glance up for movement. I could, perhaps, turn on the infrared vision. It would help me spot him with relative ease, and my patience is growing thin.