Nygma was snapped out of his musings by a muffled knock on the door. He shuddered, as if returning from the misty heights of his own thoughts back to reality, a reality in which he still couldn't get used to his new role. To the importance that had descended upon him almost instantly. To the stares, to the expectations, to the fact that his every word now weighed more than he himself had ever thought possible. He rose slowly from his chair, machine-gently smoothing the lapel of his favorite dark green jacket. Through his glasses you could see his eyes - brown, attentive, with a slight shadow of fatigue. His hair, as brown as autumn leaves, was styled with that pedantic neatness that he kept no matter what, as if he were in control of at least part of the world.

His gaze lingered on the dim glow of the lamp on the desk, the only source of light in the darkness of an office filled with silence and tension.

"Come in,” he said quietly.