Chapter 39: Letters or Mail Call at Three in the Morning
There were very few things Dr. Elias Wakati believed deserved to happen at three o'clock in the morning.
Sleep was one of them. A medical emergency was another. A temporal collapse threatening to fold several decades into one another was unfortunately also on the list, mostly because he had experienced that particular problem more than once and had learned that the universe did not respect any time of day, let alone caring about things like late hours or sleep. What did not belong on the list was a phone call from the Cranston Estates security office asking him, politely but urgently, to come down to the inner guard house as soon as possible.
Elias had asked whether somebody was hurt.
The security officer had said no.
He had asked whether his grandson was involved.
The officer had said no again.
Elias had then asked the most important question, which was why in God's name he had to get out of bed if nobody was dying and Kairo had not accidentally offended the laws of physics. The officer had apologized three separate times and informed him that explaining over the phone was apparently not permitted.
So, naturally, Elias was irritated.
His irritation had survived getting dressed, survived finding his glasses, survived discovering that Beryl Hutchinson was already awake and far much too cheerful, and survived the drive through the dark, private streets of Cranston Estates in his 1967 Chevrolet Impala. The old car purred beneath him, black paint shining beneath each security lamp they passed, its interior carrying the familiar scents of polished leather, old wood, and the faint medicinal smell that somehow followed Elias everywhere after decades spent around laboratories.
Beryl sat beside him with one elbow near the window, looking far more alive than any human being had a right to look at three in the morning.
She had always been a night owl.
Old habits mixed with Hero habits.
The sort of habits that came from spending one's teenage years climbing rooftops in England, chasing people wearing ridiculous costumes, and discovering that evil almost always preferred dark knights like this one.
Beryl stretched both arms above her head when the Impala finally rolled into the inner guard house parking lot. "Lovely night for suspicious government business," she said as Elias turned off the engine. "Cold enough to remind you you're alive, dark enough to hide crimes, and we've got an Arkham transport van sitting over there. Very welcoming."
Elias looked through the windshield.
Two Gotham City Police cruisers waited near the front of the security building, their lights off but their reflective markings bright beneath the flood lamps. Beside them sat a heavy Arkham Asylum transport vehicle, the kind normally used when somebody inside the asylum needed to be moved without giving them the opportunity to escape, explode, summon anything, hypnotize anyone, or otherwise turn a simple road trip into a Gotham headline.
Elias's irritation became suspicion, "That," he said, "is not encouraging."
Beryl looked delighted. "I disagree. It's very encouraging if your goal is excitement."
The good Doctor felt even more tired as he shook his head, "My goal was sleep."
"Bit ambitious for Gotham." Her smile could be heard even without him looking at her. But still, that late-night joy did make him smile, just a little. "We do not technically live in Gotham."
She shook her head. "That's what all the rich people around here tell themselves."
Elias gave her a tired look and Beryl smiled sweetly then They got out.
The Cranston Estates inner guard house stood deeper inside the private community than the main gates, a large stone and steel building designed to look tasteful enough not to offend wealthy residents while still being capable of turning into a fortified command center if somebody ever tried invading the neighborhood. The Estates' security staff rarely contacted residents directly unless there was a genuine reason. Most incidents were dealt with quietly, professionally, and without asking billionaires, scientists, old families, or eccentric heirs to put on pants when problems did not need their concern and, perhaps more importantly, their attention.
Which made tonight more strange.
Elias had barely closed the driver's door when another car rolled into the lot. He recognized it. "Of course," Elias muttered.
Beryl glanced toward the approaching vehicle as if she didn't recognize the Expensive-looking automobile. "Friend of yours?"
"Unfortunately." He said, straightening up a little, as the car stopped several spaces away.
Abraham Langstrom climbed out, and as the two elderly scientists saw one another, they paused and immediately wore nearly identical expressions.
Both of them were deep in Annoyance, recognition, and Suspicion.
Abraham shut his door and adjusted his coat against the cold. "You too?"
Elias sighed. "Apparently."
"Three in the morning."
"I am aware."
"On Sunday."
"I am also aware of that."
Abraham started walking toward him. "Do you know what this is about?"
"No."
"Neither do I."
"Then we are both equally useless."
Abraham grumbled. "Lovely."
Beryl walked between them and smiled. "Look at the two of you. Out after curfew, meeting police in parking lots, Arkham van nearby. If I didn't know better, I'd say you've finally started getting into proper trouble."
Elias did not laugh, but Abraham happily did.
His broad smile appeared almost immediately, tiredness doing very little to suppress his amusement. "Beryl, my dear, I am simply happy to discover I'm not the only elderly gentleman who required a caretaker to leave the house tonight."
Beryl and Elias stopped, looking at one another before they both slowly looked around the parking lot. No one stood near Abraham's vehicle, and Nobody sat inside that they could see.
Beryl glanced toward the rooftop of the guard house. Then another. Then the night sky.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Rebecca with you?" she asked. "Because if she is flying around up there again, I'm going to remind her exactly how annoying it was convincing Mr. Whitmore that a very large owl destroyed three of his chimneys. Three very expensive and old chimneys, Abraham, I might remind you. The girl somehow hit the same man's house three separate times."
Abraham's smile widened.
Beryl pointed toward him. "Don't smile. I know she loves the new wings, and I know flying feels wonderful and free and all that lovely poetic nonsense, but we barely got that poor man to stop demanding somebody call animal control. We do not need Rebecca dropping Kairo through another roof because she thinks aerial wrestling is a fun activity even when one of the people 'participating' can not fly."
Abraham raised both hands. "No, no, no. Rebecca is at home. Awake but happily at home."
Beryl relaxed slightly. "Good."
The old man's smile didn't leave his face. "She has kept her promise."
Beryl gave him a look. "Which one?"
"Not to fly alone outside the estate at night and not to drag Kairo screaming into the sky without his consent."
Beryl nodded slowly. "That's an important promise."
Elias looked toward Abraham. "Then who is with you?"
Abraham's grin returned, brighter this time. "Ace."
A voice came from behind him. "Sorry. I'm being rude again."
Beryl immediately turned, and Elias followed.
At first, nothing stood behind Abraham except the sidewalk, a row of decorative shrubs, and the soft amber glow of the parking lamps. Then the air changed.
It looked almost as though reality had been lightly painted over and somebody had started washing the extra layer away.
A translucent curve appeared. Then another.
Moisture gathered in the air despite the clear night, tiny droplets hanging in the darkness like the first moments after a summer rain. Psychic energy shimmered around the shape, nearly invisible but strong enough that Elias felt pressure move behind his eyes.
Then Ace stepped out, and the concealment collapsed behind her.
The psychic shell dissolved without sound, breaking apart like fog beneath morning light before vanishing entirely. For a few seconds, the pavement around her carried the smell of rain despite there not being a cloud overhead.
Ace smiled. "Hi."
Elias's expression softened. He had not seen her properly in nearly a year. Not because either of them was avoiding the other. Their schedules simply missed.
Whenever Elias visited Abraham, he usually ended up downstairs in the private laboratories, offices, or old study rooms talking science until somebody reminded them both food existed. Ace, meanwhile, had become comfortable enough in the Langstrom home that she actually enjoyed her own space and guarded it with the quiet dedication of a teenager who had spent much of her childhood without privacy.
That alone made Elias happy.
Sixteen suited her; if she was not older, Elias wasn't too sure himself.
She had grown considerably since the first days after the zoo, when she had been painfully thin, exhausted, and only beginning to understand what life felt like without constant pain dragging against every thought. Now she stood somewhere around five and a half feet by Elias's poor estimate, taller than both Kairo and Rebecca currently appreciated, and her frame had filled out into something lean but healthy.
Her build remained slender, but training had left subtle definition through her arms, shoulders, and legs.
Nothing too bulky, but Ready, balanced, and much more Alive. That was the part Elias noticed most. Ace looked alive.
Not merely biologically alive, because he had known far too many scientists who measured people by heart rate and brain activity while forgetting everything that made existence worth maintaining. Ace looked awake in the world. Her eyes were bright, curious, and alert, holding the particular excitement of a teenager who had been told something mysterious was happening at three in the morning and immediately decided sleep could wait.
Her hair was shoulder-length now, dark and healthy, pulled into a low loose braid that hung over one side of her hoodie. A few strands had escaped near her face, which somehow made her look even younger.
She wore a dark lightweight hoodie beneath a soft zip-up sweatshirt, layered for warmth without restricting movement. Dark leggings fit close enough for running or climbing if the night unexpectedly became violent, because living in Gotham taught people to dress with the assumption that ordinary errands could become combat exercises.
Her sneakers were practical. With Quiet soles and Good traction.
Beryl noticed everything. Of course she did; noticing things was a true gift for her.
Ace noticed Beryl noticing and made the critical mistake of allowing eye contact. Beryl approached. "Oh, look at you."
Ace's smile became cautious. "Hi, Beryl."
"Straighten up."
Ace automatically straightened.
Beryl lightly touched one shoulder, adjusting her posture another half-inch. "There. Much better."
Elias sighed. "Beryl."
"I'm . . . . .just looking."
"She is not a horse. She is a living person." Elias tried to tell the British woman.
"I know how people work, Doctor."
Abraham placed both hands into his coat pockets, already enjoying himself. Beryl circled Ace once. Ace stood in place and waited. She knew this, and she had seen what Beryl put Kairo through.
She had felt some of his training memories over the years, particularly after their minds had brushed during psychic exercises, and one memory had forever stayed with her. Kairo running uphill while Beryl jogged backward in front of him, completely cheerful, explaining that pain was temporary while British stubbornness was forever.
Ace had no intention of inviting that attention. She happily followed the simple routine Beryl had given her. Simple being a deeply dishonest word.
"Good shoulders," Beryl said. "A bit more definition than last time. You've kept up with the push-ups."
Ace nodded. "Yes."
"Running?"
"Four times a week."
"Core?"
"Almost every day."
"Stretching?"
Ace hesitated. Beryl's eyes narrowed.
Ace immediately corrected herself. "Every day."
"Lovely."
Ace smiled nervously.
Beryl took one of Ace's wrists gently, checking her forearm without any real need to. "Muscle is subtle. That's what I wanted. You're not training to look impressive. You're training so your body does what you ask before your powers decide to solve everything for you."
Ace nodded again. "Miss Martian says something similar."
"Miss Martian is clever."
"She says if I rely on telekinesis for everything I'll get lazy."
"Exactly. Same reason I make Kairo climb things without slowing gravity, flying, freezing time, turning the wall into ice stairs, or whatever little nonsense he invents."
Ace shivered dramatically. "No hills."
Beryl grinned. "Oh, there will always be hills."
"Please don't say that."
Abraham laughed. Elias rubbed his forehead. "Beryl, leave the poor girl alone."
"Nearly finished."
"You said that several observations ago."
Beryl ignored him. She leaned slightly closer and looked Ace in the eyes. "Bright. Alert. Healthy. Good."
Ace blinked. "Um... thank you?"
"Could use a little more sunlight."
Ace glanced upward at the night sky.
Beryl followed her gaze. "Not now, obviously."
Ace smiled.
Beryl nodded at her complexion. "Still pale, but you've got a healthier glow. You used to look like someone had left you under a bedsheet for fifteen years."
Ace's lips twitched. "That's almost what Cadmus did."
The humor dropped from Beryl's face for half a second. Then she nodded gently. "Fair point. Still. Healthy now."
Ace accepted that.
Beryl moved to the hair next. "Hair looks good. Practical. Low braid keeps it out of your face. Could use a hat if we're talking proper cold-weather stealth, but I suppose we're not going on patrol."
Ace glanced toward the Arkham vehicle. "Are we sure?"
Beryl looked too. "Fair question."
Then she looked at Ace's clothes. "Good layers. Dark without trying too hard. Leggings are sensible. Shoes look quiet."
Ace lifted one foot. "They are."
"Useful."
"I can make people not see me."
Beryl paused. "Right."
Ace looked slightly amused now. "I figured that out a while ago."
"Psychic perception trick?"
"And bending attention. A little mental projection. Sometimes light telekinesis if I need to move things that would give me away."
Beryl looked impressed. "See? This is why I inspect people. Learn new things."
Elias folded his arms. "That is not why you did this."
Beryl continued ignoring him. She looked at Ace's gloves. "Warm. Good."
Then her eyes moved down Ace's posture again. Ace had slowly hunched one shoulder against the cold. Beryl touched her upper back. "Straight."
Ace straightened. "Thank you."
Beryl stepped away, considered the whole picture, then nodded with satisfaction. "All right."
Ace waited.
Beryl patted her gently on the head. "We can go inside now."
Elias stared at her. "Why was any of that necessary?"
Beryl walked toward the building. "No idea."
Abraham laughed so hard he had to cough into his fist. Ace covered a smile and followed. Elias remained where he was for another second. He muttered something under his breath about the British before heading after them.
The inside of the Cranston Estates inner guard house was much busier than the parking lot suggested.
More than ten security officers and administrative workers were awake, most dressed in their dark green and charcoal uniforms. Some stood near monitor stations showing live feeds from gates, roads, surrounding woods, private rail access, rooftops, and several aerial camera systems that quietly tracked the airspace over the neighborhood.
Four Gotham police officers occupied one side of the lobby.
Six Arkham Asylum security members stood nearby.
Their uniforms were heavier. Body armor. Reinforced belts. Nonlethal restraint equipment. And one or 2, non-nonleathal equipment.
Gloves specifically designed for handling patients who could do anything from bite through steel to convince somebody's nervous system it had become a goose.
Ace slowed as her good mood tightened. She felt the minds around her immediately. Too many. Security officers thinking about procedures. One cop wondering why rich people always looked irritated when awakened.
Another thinking about coffee. An Arkham guard mentally reviewing restraint protocols. Someone in the back had a headache. Another was worried about a patient he had left on his wing.
The thoughts brushed against Ace like fingers, but she still pulled inward.
Miss Martian's voice rose automatically from years of practice.
You do not need to close the whole world out. But building doors is much easier.
Ace breathed slowly as A mental wall rose, Noting too solid. Never completely solid. More like tinted glass.
Thoughts remained on the other side, visible only as vague shapes unless she deliberately looked.
Raven's lessons followed. Center. Name what belongs to you.
Ace felt her own heartbeat. Her breath. The cold lingering inside her gloves. The pressure of her shoes against the floor. Her grandfather's presence beside her.
Hers. These belonged to her.
Beryl noticed. She did not ask Ace what was wrong. Instead, she casually moved closer and bumped her shoulder lightly against the teenager's.
Ace looked at her.
Beryl made a small face. One eyebrow raised.
All good?
Ace understood. She nodded. Beryl's body relaxed. "Good," she murmured.
Then her eyes moved toward the back of the lobby. Beryl's entire posture changed. Not dramatically.
Elias probably would not have noticed if he had not spent nearly a decade watching her work.
Her shoulders loosened as her Hands relaxed. Weight distributed evenly through both feet.
Ready.
Something familiar waited beyond the next doorway. Beryl knew it. That apparently reassured her. Mostly.
One of the estate's senior security officers approached the group. "Dr. Wakati. Dr. Langstrom. Miss Hutchinson. Miss..."
Ace smiled. "Ace is fine."
"Miss Ace."
She decided not to correct him.
The officer gave them a respectful nod. "I apologize for contacting you at such an hour. We attempted to handle this without disturbing any residents, but Arkham representatives insisted the materials required direct delivery."
Elias waved it away. "We are awake now."
Abraham added, "Against our will."
The officer almost smiled. "Yes, sir."
An Arkham security officer approached next and offered his own apology. Then one of the Gotham officers did the same. By the time the fourth person apologized for waking them, Elias held up one hand.
"Enough."
Everyone stopped. Elias adjusted his coat. "If I hear another apology, I may begin charging consultation fees."
That earned a few restrained smiles. "Show us whatever required all of this."
They were escorted deeper into the building.
The public-facing portions of the guard house were pleasant enough, polished stone floors, framed maps, comfortable waiting chairs, coffee stations, and decorative photographs of Cranston Estates in different seasons.
The deeper sections became less decorative. With its many Reinforced doors, Internal checkpoints, and thick, dark windows.
Emergency shutters built into walls.
The room they eventually entered had been designed for incidents nobody wanted reaching the houses outside. It was Large, windowless, and very Easy to seal.
A heavy metal table stood in the center. One large reinforced package box rested on top.
Beside it stood a massive man in an orange Arkham jumpsuit.
He was broad enough that Elias briefly wondered whether the man was simply large or had some mild metahuman enhancement. Thick arms disappeared into the short sleeves of his jumpsuit, much of the visible skin covered with tattoos.
Despite his intimidating appearance, he looked deeply uncomfortable with the amount of security surrounding him.
The person beside him was considerably more familiar. She had bright Blonde hair, a pair of somewhat thick Glasses on her face, and was wearing a warm, Soft sweater.
Paired with a Professional pair of slacks. A big, bright smile. This woman looked like she was in her Late thirties, give or take a few years.
Maybe older, depending on how generous one was about Gotham aging.
Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel waved enthusiastically. "Hey!"
Beryl stopped as Harley stopped smiling.
Their eyes met. There was history there. Not especially pleasant history. Beryl's face said I remember you.
Harley's expression answered Yeah, well, I remember you too.
Neither woman said anything. Ace looked between them.
Beryl glanced at her and gave another small reassuring expression. "About ninety percent sure this isn't a trap."
Ace's brows rose. "Only ninety?"
"We're in Gotham."
Harley put one hand against her chest. "Wow. Rude."
Beryl rolled her eyes as Harley gave her a look sharp enough to cut paper.
Then, by mutual unspoken agreement, both women turned away from one another before either decided to revisit some old disagreement involving bats, mallets, rooftops, or deeply questionable life choices.
Harley stepped forward. "Doctors!"
She spoke with the thick Brooklyn accent Elias remembered from far less professional encounters he'd seen on the news.
"Dr. Elias Wakati and Dr. Abraham Langstrom, together at last. This is adorable."
Neither old man looked impressed. But still Harley continued anyway. "And before we start, yes, I know this looks like a hostage negotiation, a prison break, a mob funeral, or one of those weird government meetings where everybody pretends nobody has a gun under the table."
One police officer glanced awkwardly at his sidearm.
Harley pointed. "See? We can all be honest here. Guns all on top of the table." Nobody laughed. Harley laughed alone. Loudly. For several seconds.
She eventually wiped beneath one eye. "Oh, I'm hilarious."
The giant man beside her looked away in secondhand embarrassment.
Harley noticed. "Don't you judge me, Carl."
The man slowly looked back. "I didn't say anything, Doctor."
"Your face did."
Carl said nothing.
Harley smiled again and gestured toward him. "Anyway! This handsome mountain is Carl. Carl is part of our new patient mail and package delivery program."
Carl gave everyone a polite nod. "Evening."
"Morning," Abraham corrected.
Carl checked the clock on the wall. "Yeah. Morning. Sorry."
Harley continued. "Patients who've shown good behavioral progress can send approved letters or little gifts to people outside Arkham. Everything gets searched, scanned, thoroughly checked if needed, chemically tested, mentally screened if we've got the staff, shaken, sniffed, and occasionally yelled at just in case."
Elias looked at the package. "That required police."
Harley smiled awkwardly. "People get nervous when Arkham says somebody mailed them something."
"Understandably," Abraham said.
Harley put one hand on her hip. "Yeah, yeah, Arkham's reputation."
She began counting on her fingers. "Escapes. Recidivism. Staff corruption. Patients turning staff into other patients. Powerful individuals very easily treating reinforced walls and armed guards like optional suggestions and not important legal obstacles. Also my own personal record, which, let me tell ya, does not make grant applications fun."
Beryl coughed suspiciously. Harley ignored her. "But we're trying new things." There was genuine pride underneath the joke now.
Elias heard it.
Harley rested one hand against the package. "Not everybody in Arkham is a lost cause. Not everybody needs to spend their whole life being treated like the worst thing they ever did is the only thing they're allowed to be. Some of them are sick. Some did horrible things. Some are both. But progress has to mean something or why the hell are we even calling it treatment?"
The room quieted slightly. Ace watched her. Harley noticed Ace for the first time properly, and her own expression changed, seeing something in the young woman, but the humor softened.
Harley knew exactly what it meant to have people decide what you were before you were ready to decide for yourself.
She did not stare. At least not for too long, and Ace appreciated that.
Harley clapped once. "Which brings us to..." She reached into her sweater pocket.
Beryl visibly prepared for something. Harley pulled out a small confetti popper. Several security officers immediately tensed. Harley fired it.
Bright paper exploded over the table. "MAIL DAY!"
Carl closed his eyes.
One Gotham officer looked toward the ceiling as if asking whatever deity watched Gotham cops why this was his shift.
Abraham stared at the confetti as Elias stared at Harley. Then both scientists looked at one another. Abraham spoke first. "We were called here."
Elias continued. "At three in the morning."
Abraham pointed toward the Arkham transport. "With police."
Elias gestured toward the armed security. "For mail."
Harley nodded enthusiastically. "Yup!"
Silence.
Harley slowly lowered the empty confetti popper. "Okay, when you say it like that, it does sound a little dramatic."
Beryl snorted.
Harley gave her another evil look. "Nobody asked England."
Beryl smiled. "Good to see you too, Harley."
Harley pushed her glasses higher. "Doctor Quinzel."
"Of course, Doctor Quinzel."
The politeness made it worse.
Harley decided to ignore her again.
"I genuinely appreciate both of you coming," she told the older men. "We could've had somebody drive these directly to your houses, but considering who sent them, the Estates wanted everything handled here first. Honestly, with your neighbors being the kind of people who sue clouds for blocking their sunlight, I can't blame security."
Abraham looked toward the box. "Who sent them?"
Harley's smile returned. "That's the fun part."
Carl stepped forward, and He unlatched the box. Several internal security seals came loose as the reinforced lid opened.
Cold mist rolled over the table. Elias immediately stiffened. He knew that cold.
Not some cold from an ordinary refrigeration. This cold was so Controlled and Dry. The temperature was held so precisely.
Carl reached inside with both hands. He lifted out a large snow globe. Elias stopped breathing for a moment. The globe was beautiful.
Much larger than something intended for a normal shelf, nearly the size of a small bowling ball, made from impossibly clear glass that caught the overhead lights without distorting anything inside.
Within it stood a miniature winter scene. The Wakati mansion. Not approximately but exactly.
Every visible architectural detail had been reproduced at a scale so fine that Elias could identify windows, statues, sections of roof, even the old clock tower rising behind the main structure.
Snow drifted through the tiny estate. Not falling randomly but moving in slow patterns. The ''snow'' Circled and then paused before reversing and then beginning again.
At the center of the front lawn stood a tall silver number.
The base of the snow globe was dark polished metal with pale blue frost crawling permanently through engraved grooves.
At the front, a crest had been etched into the metal.
KAIRO VICTOR FUGATE WAKATI
Elias stared. Abraham stared too. Then they looked at one another. That single exchange carried decades.
So many memories of College, Research, Friendships, old Arguments.
Victor Fries before the cold. Poor, sweet, smart, Nora.
The accident and the man Victor became.
The name Elias had given his grandson partly because of the friend he remembered beneath everything that came later.
Harley clasped her hands together. "This one's from Doctor Victor Fries." She sounded genuinely pleased.
"Made it himself. Took him months. We checked the glass, base, snow, tiny house, everything. No explosives. No freezing traps. No surprise cryogenic gas. No hidden death ray."
Harley paused. "We checked for a death ray twice."
Carl added quietly, "Three times."
Harley pointed at him. "See? Thorough."
Elias stepped closer. "For Kairo."
Harley nodded. "His god-grandson."
Abraham's eyes moved toward Elias. Elias remained focused on the globe.
Victor had accepted that title years ago, though circumstances had made their relationship strange at best. Kairo knew of him. Knew where his middle name came from. Knew Victor Fries had once been his grandfather's friend, one of the brilliant minds in Elias's younger life before tragedy turned every path sideways.
Kairo had even written Victor letters over the years. Never anything terribly deep just simple Child things.
Questions about cryogenics. Complaints about ice, frost, and the cold. A drawing once.
Several birthday cards.
Victor apparently remembered.
Harley clapped again. "And here we have two letters."
Carl reached inside. He removed two envelopes. One had Elias's name. The other Abraham's.
Carl walked around the table and offered one to each man. "Doctors."
"Thank you," Elias said.
Abraham nodded. "Yes. Thank you."
Carl smiled. "No problem."
Elias felt it immediately. Cold. The paper was colder than paper should be. Not painfully cold. Not frozen. Simply chilled, as though it had spent hours resting beside a winter window.
Abraham turned his envelope over. "Cold."
Harley pointed toward him. "But Safe!"
Both men looked at her. She raised both hands. "I super promise."
Elias's eyebrow rose. "Your super promise."
"Official medical terminology."
Beryl muttered, "Terrifying."
Harley ignored her as Carl reached into the package again. He removed one more envelope.
Harley's eyes lit up. "Oh! And this one."
She took it personally. Then walked toward Abraham with a smile far too pleased for three in the morning. "For Mr. Abraham Langstrom." She held it toward him. Then visibly winked. "Wink."
Abraham stared. "You said the word."
"Didn't want you to miss it."
He slowly took the letter. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Ace had been standing near the edge of the room, quietly watching. The instant Abraham took the envelope, she moved. No one told her to. She simply crossed the space, held out one hand, and waited. Abraham looked at her. Ace looked at the envelope. Abraham understood. He handed it over.
Ace took the letter and examined it. Seeing the name Jervis Tetch on it. She could feel faint impressions around the paper.
Not active mind control. Nothing dangerous, just raw emotion and Memory. The kind that objects sometimes accumulated around people with strong psychic presence. Ace's expression became unreadable.
Beryl noticed, but she said nothing.
Elias tucked Victor's envelope carefully against his coat. Abraham did the same with his own. "Dr. Quinzel," Elias said, "thank you. Truly. This is unusual, but I understand what you are attempting."
Harley's expression brightened.
Abraham nodded too. "And I appreciate the effort."
"Great."
"We'll take these home."
"Wonderful."
"And read them privately."
Harley's smile froze.
Elias saw it.
Abraham saw it.
Beryl saw it.
Ace saw it.
Harley remained perfectly still for perhaps two seconds. Then her lower lip pushed forward. "Oh, come on."
Elias sighed. "Doctor."
"I wanna hear the letters."
"They are private correspondence."
"Probably."
The good doctor made a Face. "Almost certainly."
Harley walked around the table toward them. "You don't understand how hard I worked on this program."
Beryl crossed her arms. "Oh, I'm sure she's about to tell us."
Harley pointed without looking. "Quiet, Red."
Beryl's eyebrow rose.
Harley turned back toward the old men. "You know how hard it is getting normal people to agree to receive mail from Arkham patients?"
Abraham answered honestly. "I imagine very."
"Nobody wants it!"
Harley threw both hands outward. "Turns out when you call somebody and say, 'Hey, good news, a person currently confined in Gotham's most famously escape-prone psychiatric facility wants your home address,' people get weird about it."
Carl murmured, "Reasonably."
Harley turned. "Not helping. CARL!"
"Sorry."
She continued. "I need a win here, gentlemen."
The comedy faded enough that Elias listened.
Harley adjusted her glasses.
"We've got people inside who haven't heard from family in years. People whose only outside contact is lawyers, cops, or somebody checking whether they're still dangerous. Some of them deserve boundaries. Believe me, I get boundaries."
Her mouth tightened briefly.
"But a patient making progress and being allowed to write to somebody they care about? That's normal. That's human. That's something to work toward."
Ace lowered her eyes to Jervis's letter.
Harley's voice softened. "If we want people to act human, sometimes we gotta give 'em a chance to practice being human."
Nobody joked after that. Even Beryl's expression softened.
Harley exhaled. "Also, my record ain't exactly helping."
She pointed toward herself.
"Former patient. Former criminal. Former bad life-choice enthusiast. You should see the faces donors make when I tell them I'm directing a rehabilitation project."
Abraham almost smiled. "Bad life-choice enthusiast?"
"Very technical diagnosis." Harley gave him a small grin. "Look, I'm not asking you to forgive anybody. I'm not asking you to pretend whatever they wrote makes everything okay. I just want to know whether the letters sound like people trying."
Elias looked down at the cold envelope in his hand.
Victor.
An old friend.
A man who had lost so much that his grief had eventually become armor.
Abraham looked toward Ace. She was holding Jervis's letter carefully. Too carefully. The Mad Hatter had once helped destroy a birthday party and nearly killed children.
He had also cared for Ace. Life was irritating that way. People rarely stayed convenient.
Harley clasped her hands in front of her. "Please?"
Both men remained quiet.
Harley leaned forward slightly. "Pretty please?"
Elias rubbed his forehead. Abraham sighed.
Harley added, "With professional psychological curiosity on top?"
Beryl muttered, "There it is."
Harley shot her a look.
Elias turned toward Abraham. Abraham turned toward Elias. Neither needed telepathy. They had known one another too long.
You decide.
No, you decide.
I am tired.
So am I.
This is your fault somehow.
That makes no sense.
Harley watched their silent conversation.
"Are you two doing old-man telepathy?"
"No," both said together.
Harley smiled. "That's cute."
Elias sighed. "One letter."
Harley gasped happily.
Abraham looked at him. "You surrendered quickly."
Elias gave the other old man a look. "I would like to leave before sunrise."
Harley clapped. "Two letters."
Elias frowned. "I said one."
Abraham looked at his envelope. Then at Harley. Then at Ace. Finally, he exhaled. "Fine."
Harley made a delighted noise. Beryl covered her face. Carl looked relieved that whatever this operation had been was apparently working.
Harley hurried toward the back wall, grabbed a chair, dragged it loudly across the floor despite several people clearly wishing she would pick it up, then positioned it in front of the table.
She sat. Straight-backed. Hands folded in her lap. Bright-eyed and very Ready. "Proceed."
Elias stared at her. "This is not theater."
Harley adjusted her glasses. "Everything's theater if you commit. So please, proceed."
Abraham shook his head as Ace moved closer to her grandfather and Beryl leaned against the wall.
Security officers remained outside the immediate circle, professional enough not to openly listen while absolutely listening anyway.
Elias looked at the envelope. Abraham looked at his. The paper in Elias's hands remained cold. Very cold.
Somewhere in the bottom of the package, the snow globe continued its quiet snowfall around the miniature Wakati mansion, tiny flakes circling the silver number ten before reversing and beginning again.
Ten years.
Kairo was ten.
Victor remembered. Elias slid one finger beneath the edge of the envelope. Across from him, Abraham did the same.
Harley leaned forward.
Beryl glanced at her. "Don't."
Harley looked innocent. "I didn't do anything."
"You were about to."
"Psychic now?"
"No. Your face is loud."
Ace smiled. Then the seals broke. The first envelope opened. Then the second. Cold air moved faintly over Elias's fingers. Abraham unfolded his letter. For several seconds, neither old man spoke. Harleen Frances Quinzel stopped smiling.
Ace leaned closer. Beryl's teasing expression faded.
And in a locked security room in the middle of Cranston Estates at three-something on a Sunday morning, two elderly scientists prepared to hear from men they had known in very different lives.
Men now living behind the walls of Arkham Asylum.
Men who had apparently decided that, after everything that had happened, there were still some words worth sending home.
Elias adjusted his glasses. Abraham looked across the table at him. "You first?"
Elias gave him a deeply tired look. "Coward."
Abraham smiled. "Absolutely."
Harley clasped her hands tighter. Elias looked down at Victor Fries's handwriting. Then he began to read.