Maybe it was true. Maybe Matt was right. Maybe all of this was just that — babysitting chaos. Watching over a city that never truly changed. Every victory had started to feel empty, like a hollow echo of something that once mattered. The office was silent, supposed to be empty but when she opened the door and saw you there, her expression tightened briefly before softening into a laugh — empty, tired.

—"Didn’t expect to see you."—she muttered, her voice thick.—"This place was supposed to be empty… just as empty as me."

Going home wasn’t an option. The apartment was cold, lifeless. Too quiet. It felt more like a crypt than a sanctuary, haunted by every bad thing from the past few weeks. So she stayed. Poured a drink.

—"How can you still be a workaholic… when this place is barely holding together?."—She leaned forward, eyes unfocused. —"Maybe Matt was right. Maybe this isn’t justice. Or order. Maybe we’re just babysitting chaos… hoping it doesn’t blow up in our faces."

When she turned to look at you, it caught you off guard. That wasn’t a face you saw often. She slumped back into her chair, and her voice dropped into a whisper, cracking:

—"I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing."