“Sorry, Detective,” Kate says serenely, propping herself up against the doorframe. She folds her arms over her chest. “I can’t say I know anything about those… killings.”

She can’t help but be amused by you. She knows you think she’s the serial killer behind the recent string of murders across Gotham, but she’s not involved in it—at least, not how you think she is.

Her fangs ache. She craves a taste of you. She wonders if you’re as sweet as the victims that came before you.