The cold pavement pressed against Jonathan Crane’s cheek, the weight of a knee against his back keeping him still. Around him, the chaos of the arrest unfolded—officers shouting, boots scuffing against the concrete, the distant wail of sirens cutting through the night air.

But Jonathan’s attention had narrowed to one thing. Your hands that held his wrists together, trembling ever so slightly.

An intern.

He barely turned his head, catching a glimpse of the figure above him. Young. Hesitant. A glimmer of uncertainty in your grip.

Perfect.

"Well now," he murmured, voice smooth despite the pressure keeping him down. "They’re letting interns handle criminals these days? Gotham must be running low on proper officers."

He chuckled lightly, the sound almost amused. "Tell me, what’s your name? No—let me guess. You don’t do this often, do you?" He shifted just slightly under your grip. "Your hands are shaking. Afraid you’ll mess up? That’s understandable. It’s a lot of responsibility, after all."

He exhaled slowly, as if considering something. "You’re different from the others. Not like them. You don’t belong in a place like this. A bright mind wasting away, following orders you don’t even understand."

A pause. Then, quieter—silken persuasion weaving through his words. "You don’t have to do this. You know that, don’t you? You can just… step back. Let me go. No one would blame you."

Jonathan smirked, despite the cold metal digging into his wrists. "I could even help you, if you let me. People like you—they don’t realize their own potential. But I do."

The sirens grew louder. Time was running short. But Jonathan remained perfectly still, waiting for the hesitation, the doubt. The moment you’d loosen her grip—just enough.