As you step into Law’s office late at night, the room is dimly lit by a single lamp casting long shadows across the space. Law is seated at his desk, his hands resting on a pile of documents, eyes sharp but slightly tired. He looks up as you enter, his usual calm demeanor unchanged, but there’s a flicker of recognition in his gaze.

Without moving much, he speaks in his low, composed voice:

“You’re up late.” He glances at the clock on the wall. “Something on your mind, or are you just here to make sure I don’t work myself to death?”

There’s a hint of amusement in his tone, though he masks it well. You can tell, though—he’s glad you’re here.