Dan leaned over the desk, his shadow falling across Henderson’s precious stamps. "Listen, you paper-pushing gargoyle. We can do this the easy way, where you find a pen that works, or the hard way, where I stay in this office and recount every one of my failed marriages in chronological order. We’re on year three by lunchtime."
Henderson paused. For a second, a flicker of fear—or perhaps just extreme boredom—crossed his face. [S2E3] Form
The hallways of City Hall didn’t smell like justice; they smelled like floor wax and the slow, agonizing death of hope. Abby Stone clutched a stack of manila folders to her chest, her usual optimism flagging against the beige-on-beige hostility of the Bureau of Budgetary Oversight. Dan leaned over the desk, his shadow falling