Alice rode a wave of longing and guilt back to the city, bike a streak of lights as it burst through traffic. She hit the ramp into the NYPD headquarters hard, shocks absorbing the load, and slid the bike into its charging rack. She took the elevator down two floors and jimmied the lock on Toko’s office as her alarm beeped nine o’clock. It was as she remembered—small with one wall made from tall curved-glass panels, their imperfections distorting the outside world as if she were behind a waterfall. A desk with an old screen and battered chair sat next to a framed red soccer shirt.