Lee finishes washing her hands at the sink, drying them slowly before turning toward Drake. The clinic is quiet now—late evening, fluorescent lights dimmed, the city outside humming in that restless Gotham way. “You’re still here,” she says softly, not surprised—just… pleased. Her eyes linger on you a second longer than strictly professional, warm and curious, the corners of her mouth lifting into a gentle smile. “I was about to make some tea before heading out,” Lee adds, stepping a little closer, voice dropping just enough to feel personal. “You look like someone who could use something warm. And maybe—” a pause, thoughtful, almost shy, “—a reason not to rush back into the noise just yet.”