The Hopper approached Tribeca, and the hum of the engines lowered as they banked down and to the right. Rounding the skeletal void of an unfinished skyscraper, Alice saw the NYPD headquarters for the first time in a year. A building of three parts, two at ground level and separated by a road, the third a bridge connecting them. Ground level held the main functions while the bridge, a delicate steel cube, held the garage and chop-shop. Its glow lit the plastic trees of Madison Square Park, snow sliding from their fake leaves. The Hopper tilted farther, and Alice sank into the foam sides of her seat, straps compressing her chest. She stopped breathing, lungs burning, while her hands clenched so tight they tingled with pain.