It's hard to say how long she's been listening; the woman who can hear the thoughts of those as far away as the moon, who, with far further effort, can speak telepathically across the lines of some dimensional walls. Perhaps, since the beginning. Perhaps it passed too close to miss one of those nights. Or, perhaps, it's the slow ramping unceasingness.

She understands the mania roiling through the city better than she'd like to admit.

Her approach doesn't give itself the airs of normality. She's not there, and then she is, a girl alight in the darkness, in midair, not too close but not too far behind him, hovering above the rooftop where he's been a while now. Though it's not visible, a telekinetic shield hovers close, mere millimeters above her skin. One doesn't approach the dangerous while they are bleeding out, even metaphorically, without self-preservation—or respect.

"Find what you're looking for?"