Inside City Hall, Wyatt studied the high ceilings topping the corridors outside the District Attorney's office. The entire building had just finished renovations, and it showed -- whereas before everything had been sterile concrete and fluorescent lights, now everything was deep-coloured wood, soft lamps, and maroon carpeting. Security had stepped up as well. Metal detectors, multiple badge checks, and there was even a new voice print identification system that he needed to register for on the spot, after they'd called his department to ensure his business there. His voice had cracked like he was back in the eighth grade -- that earned him the familiar annoyed look -- as they ran the jacket through the X-Ray scanner, as he prayed they didn't look too closely at the bulge in his right pocket.

The halls were nice. They'd even put fancy, ornate benches in the middle of them so people could sit and wait outside the offices, if need be. Wyatt was there now, fiddling with the folder, shifting uncomfortably atop the plush cushion. He thought about the photocopies in his pocket and realized that he hadn't asked for colour prints, and wondered if that meant he was going to be missing out on any information. Of course, he couldn't pull them out now, but if nobody was looking, he could take a peek into the folder in his hands...

"-think you've not thought this through, Mr. Adams," came a woman's voice from down the corridor. Wyatt looked up, and saw that the Assistant DA was walking quickly and awkwardly in her heels to keep up with the towering figure of Mr. Gerald Adams, her boss. "We still don't have enough information on the victims. You heard the reports. He's the spitting image of-"

"He's the spitting image of a citizen of Port City, Petra," Mr. Adams said. "I won't have somebody running around at night and shooting arrows at the people of this city."

Wyatt quickly came to attention. The archer. He wanted to break out his pen and start taking notes in case they said something new, but there was no subtle way to do that now.

"But here's the thing," Petra said as they reached the door, and Adams fished through his pocket for his keys. "The first two, Hollis and Wendell, we have files on them. This new guy, he just might be the Port City Rapi-"

"'Might' being the operative word, Petra," Adams said, pulling the keys from his pocket and gesturing with them. "We don't have all the facts here on the rapist. And if we don't have all the facts, how can we expect that this nutcase does? Don't be silly." Adams paused, and looked over at Wyatt, who'd stood up quietly and removed his hat, tucking it under his right arm, concealing the bulge in his right jacket pocket.

"Yes?" Adams said. "Oh, you, right. Come in." He rushed in, leaving Petra to hold the door open for them.

Petra nodded towards him with a blank expression. Wyatt was caught by her glare briefly, and he saw her eyes go towards his hat, which he was holding tightly. Wyatt shifted uncomfortably and offered up the file. She took it, looked him in the eyes and said in a flat voice "Wait right here, will you?" She turned and left him at the door, as she went inside.

"Uh, sure." Wyatt swallowed hard. She was certainly pretty, in an almost 1950s sort of a way, with her slim figure and hair tied back, but her face was hard, and the eyes had something in them that he couldn't quite figure out. Not dead, exactly, but a sort of drawing power to them, as if they made the rest of the room go out of focus. Standing there, holding the door and watching as she followed Adams deeper into the office, he tried to imagine her smiling, and could not. He could see her mouth make the necessary shape, but he couldn't envision any change in her eyes.

"At the very least let me look into it," he heard her say. "I could just get a detective and we could ask some questions, maybe work something out, see if there's something emerg-"

"All I'm interested in is the evidence, Petra," the shadowy figure of Adams said from behind his desk. "Hey officer, thanks very much, you're not needed."

Disappointed, Wyatt nodded and was about to close the door.

"Wait just a sec," Petra called after him. She turned back to Adams. "Let me have a couple of detectives, please. I'm just as interested in getting the evidence as you are."

"Sure you are," Adams said darkly. "You're more interested in investigating the victims than you are the perp. No. Our resources are stretched to the limit right now, and I can't indulge you, not this time. You've got your hands full investigating gang activity in the North end of the city, right? The Kouzens? That was a project you wanted, right?"

"Yes, but-"

Adams cut her off. "Remember that task force we help Ramsay set up on the archer? Well, his assistant is running it and they're not interested in our ideas. See this file?" Adams picked up the folder Wyatt had brought in. "It's going straight to them. We're to not even look at it until they're done. Clay's even picking it up himself."

Petra sighed, and stared at the floor.

"Now do whatever you have to do with that officer and help me get ready for tomorrow," Adams said curtly.

"Alright..." Petra said, before walking over to her own desk, picking up a folder, and quickly making her way back to the door. Wyatt straightened up, as he studied her eyes. If she was disappointed, she was good at hiding it. She looked the same as she always did.

When she came up to him, she held out the new file. Wyatt's left hand was still holding the hat to his side, as his right went to accept the file, but she withdrew it a little.

She paused, staring at him dead on, without blinking. "This is for your Captain. It's very important."

Wyatt nodded. "I understand." He immediately felt uncomfortable. By all accounts Petra was an excellent Assistant DA, and in some of the more sensationalized Port City Crier articles about the courtroom they loved mentioning the fact that she handled Adams's cross examinations for him, and they never missed a chance to praise her ability. What was even more well-known amongst the police officers was her reputation for being very good in the interrogation room, and in that moment in front of her, under her calm glare, he could instantly sense it. All he wanted to do was get out of there.

"I'd appreciate it if you held it carefully," she said, "with both hands."

Wyatt inhaled nervously, and quickly put his hat on, turning his body slightly to conceal the bulge. He held out his hands to take the file, and it was all he could do to keep them from shaking as he saw her eyes go to his left side. Her gaze narrowed briefly, before meeting his again. When she handed him the file, the expression was as dead as ever.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," Wyatt answered quickly. He stepped back into the corridor as briskly as he could, letting the door close behind him, and he didn't stop until he was out in the fresh air again, breathing heavily. He checked his side pocket, and it was still zipped up, and he sighed in relief. He took that moment to look down at the file in his hands. Standing there in the middle of the busy sidewalk, shoulders all around his face, he was tempted to have a peek inside, but he swallowed back the urge. He'd taken his risk today. Quit while you're ahead, he thought. Thinking of the copies in his pocket, he even managed a smile.