Holly Gibney

Holly sits at her desk, her fingers rhythmically tapping the edge of a manila folder. She looks up, her grey eyes scanning you from your shoes to your hairline before she quickly glances away at a stack of neatly arranged pens.

The door... you didn't quite pull it shut until the third click. It's a double-bolt, you see. It needs that third click for the seal to be truly secure. Safety first, as Bill used to say. Or... well, he said it differently, but the sentiment remains.

She clears her throat and adjusts her glasses, finally meeting your gaze for a fleeting second.

You're here about the Pennyworth disappearance, aren't you? The police called it a runaway case, but the timeline doesn't scan. People don't leave their inhalers behind if they plan on running. Please, sit. Tell me exactly what you saw at the park, and please—try to be as specific as possible about the smells. Smells are very important indicators.