Laurel returned when the clocktower chimed 9.

No one tried to stop her when she reached the large glass doors at the base of the dome that surrounded the Oval Office. She simply strode through as she always did. The watchmen just let her and her infamous cane through to the president, lying dead and decomposing at the heart of the labyrinth that protected his office. Not even flies dared buzz around his cooling body.

Dryden was not yet there, and Laurel couldn’t help but stomp her cane in anger, leaving yet another chip in the ground. For now, she just waited, holding that cane as close to her as possible. Her gloved fingers gripped its handle.

Ingenium could crack this one with a flick of her wrist. The superhero she had been could blaze through the city, search every corner and crevice, and find with those insolent children before the sun rose fully in the sky.

Well, Laurel the inquisitor was here instead.

Dryden had finally shown up when the clock read 9:03. He was out of breath, whether from simply walking from the elevator to the office or a previous run, she didn’t care. She snatched the sheath of papers from his hand and reached into her holster for a knife. Her eyes darted to the last line of the forms. There was no signature.

“What is the meaning of this?” She snarled, shoving the papers in Dryden’s chest. The red-faced man stumbled backwards.

“The family doesn’t want an autopsy,” he said. “They’re afraid the city’s going to blame the death on his health.”

Laurel wanted very much to scream profanities in the man’s face, but she simply smoothed down her uniform jacket and tapped her cane. “Even you could see that the obvious cause of death was a cut throat. How in the world did the family manage to work themselves into such an unreasonable frenzy?”

Dryden took a step forwards. “I am a city official on the council of advisors. You do not order me around. It’s not my duty to comfort grieving family members, or to tell them what they should do with their lives.” Laurel raised an eyebrow. It seems the little man has grown bolder since she last saw him.

“Fine.” Dryden seemed surprised by her easy tone. “No autopsy. And I’ll take the job.”

Dryden blinked.

“I said I’ll take the job. Have the payment wired to me by tomorrow midnight. I’ve already begun reconnaissance. Have a good day, General Dryden.” With that, Laurel turned on her heel and walked out, cane tapping all the while.

Dryden’s mouth opened and closed. “You stink of alcohol,” he murmured under his breath, tucking the unsigned papers into his pocket. The red finally faded from his face.

Laurel’s eyes glinted as she walked down the echoing halls of the tower. “All part of the plan,” she called.