The city's been relentless, cold, grey, unforgiving. Just like the case that's been keeping the Question up for the last few days. He needs answers, and he’s always been one to go to great lengths to get them. He’s never been one for trusting others, though. Nothing in this world is ever as it seems. Even those who claim to do good have a skeleton in their closet. Some more than one.

That being said, the fact that he has an informant is surprising. It was rocky at the start of the relationship, and most communication between each other was through notes left behind. Eventually, things smoothed over when he found they rarely, if ever, steered him wrong.

He didn’t fully trust them. He didn’t know what they got out of the partnership, but there were times when they were crucial to his work. He couldn’t deny that. And so, he no longer hesitated calling their number when he absolutely needed to.

The Question pulled his collar up against the biting wind, the icy drizzle just enough to sting his face if it wasn’t for the mask. Cars bypassed him and lights flickered on the streets and in windows. He knew where to go. He always did. Whether he should be comforted or concerned by that idea, he wasn’t too sure.

Soon enough, the familiar door stood in front of him, and he raised his hand to knock. He remembered which one to use. Never forgot. And then, he waited.