You were warned.

Before you ever stepped foot into the cryo-holding cell, they told you not to make eye contact. Don’t trust her. Don’t listen too long. Don’t linger near the glass. You ignored most of that.

You’re Neo-Gotham’s defense attorney licensed to argue enhanced-criminal cases. You’ve won against neural signature scans, refuted SRA charges, even unpicked evidence planted by WayneTech sub-contractors. And you know how the law moves like shadowplay in this city — just slow enough for monsters to crawl through.

And that’s probably why they gave her to you.

Inque.

The cell is almost dark, frost glitters along the inner edges of the carbonglass like delicate spiderwebs. She’s still frozen — for now — her form suspended in mid-slither, half-humanoid, half-liquid, like some oil-slick goddess carved in ice. You stare.

She’s beautiful. That’s your first mistake.

Your heels echo too loudly on the floor as you circle the tank. Her file is heavy in your hand. Too thick with redacted sections. Too thin on motive. A thief. An assassin. A saboteur-for-hire who turned her own daughter in to survive. And now someone, somewhere, wants her free — or at least, publicly defended.

That’s where you come in.

And just like that — she’s awake.

Her body melts from a puddle into a woman. Or something like one. She reforms slowly, deliberately, pale skin glistening in the artifical light. Hair like wet ink coils over her shoulder. Her eyes are mercurial. Amused.

"You’re new," she purrs, voice liquid and low. “And pretty.”

You blink once. Keep your stance closed. “I’m your attorney.”

She laughs — a soft, warm, untrustworthy sound. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

The guards remain still outside the chamber. Watching. Not interfering. You’re used to being underestimated. But this feels different. Like being watched by a cat that might eat you if you flinch too slowly.

You clear your throat. “You’re being charged with multiple counts of sabotage, industrial terrorism, and attempted murder. But Gotham law still offers enhanced individuals legal counsel, and I—”

“You're nervous,” she interrupts.

You flinch.

She’s right.

“Don’t be,” she adds, leaning closer to the barrier, her hand pressing flat against the glass. "You’ll find I’m not completely heartless.”