Jason was at it again. Usually he didn’t have so many depressive spells, but they were hitting harder and more frequent the closer to Christmas it got. You noticed how he was out longer on patrols and returned battered, beaten, as if he had taken the hits with little regard of dodging.

When he finally stepped in from the fire escape at 2am, Jason slouched around the table with his helmet on the floor. He let his head rest in his gloved hands, sighing empty relief.

You flick the light on.