Jonathan Crane was not the only one attending therapy sessions at Arkham. The refunctioned therapy rooms had been put to good use since his release, and Charlize was working with a few lesser-known and relatively tamer criminals.

Of course, she couldn't get them all a release statement, which she made very clear to them before starting the sessions. Perhaps they saw freedom as a return for opting for therapy, like it seemed so in Jonathan's case. However, there were other factors with Crane that led to his release from Arkham, unlike other detainees.

Still, Charlize intended to make a difference in their lives and help them if they were willing to accept it.

She had a session with Edward Nygma that day, commonly known as the Riddler. He had been detained in Arkham for three years by then, deemed too clever and dangerous to be held in Blackgate prison.

He had escaped from Arkham multiple times as well and was kept in a top security cell right next to the cell that held Jonathan Crane. After Crane's release, he expressed the need to attend therapy sessions, and after careful consideration, Charlize agreed.

So, they held a session once every two weeks, and they were meeting for the fifth session that day. Charlize had started at the surface level with Nygma, knowing it would take some time for her to break through his shell.

"Doctor Fischer," Miguel's voice halted her in her tracks, and she turned to see him at the reception desk, "a word?"

"Mister Hanson," she came to the desk, observing the files he was sorting, "looks like Sally is absent today."

"Yes, I am filling in. I have taken Nygma to the therapy room, but there's something I want to tell you," he remarked, leaving the desk and standing close to her.

"Of course, what is it?"

"He's not actually interested in therapy, you know that, right?" Miguel spoke up, his eyes focused on her as if to gauge her expression, "He's only trying to pick you apart. He thinks this is a little activity to keep himself from getting bored."

She took in a deep breath, "What are you suggesting? Be clear with me, please."

"I am suggesting that you take whatever he will say to you with a pinch of salt," he drew back. "He will only try to get a reaction out of you; for that, he can say anything. Don't pay any heed to it."

"You seem to know him quite well, Mister Hanson."

"No, but I know the likes of him. I was put in charge of the Joker's cell for two months. I was here when Jervis Tetch was brought in. I've dealt with Harvey Dent for some time too. I know how they are."

That was new information to her, making her curious just how much influence Miguel Hanson had within Arkham. The man was morally ambiguous; if asked to take a side, he would stand in the middle even if his life depended on it. Yet he had never done anything to make her uncomfortable during her time at the asylum.

"These criminals that we keep in the top security cells easily use other people to get what they want, and they don't care about the means. All I'm saying is, be careful," he concluded.

"You didn't say anything like that about Jonathan," she remarked, folding her arms defiantly.

"Yes, because I have known him for much longer, and I knew he needed help," he replied, his voice more serious, "Riddler, on the other hand, is too far gone to pull him back."

"Well, I think that's for me to decide whether he needs help or not," she stated firmly, clarifying that Miguel was perhaps being too biased in his judgment.

He shrugged, "You should know that I would never have vouched for Jonathan either if I didn't see how he changed after Tim. Nygma has no such excuse."

She paused, raising an eyebrow skeptically, "So Tim is an excuse?"

"Was, until he proved to be actually helpful to him," his eyes flickered toward the clock, knowing that Charlize was very particular about time. "I won't keep you from your job longer, Doctor Fischer. But please, bear my warning. Not everyone can be saved, especially those clinging to the wreckage."

With that final remark, Miguel returned to the reception desk, busying himself with sorting the files of the inmates who had been shifted temporarily to Arkham.

She knew he wouldn't say more to her, and she was already getting late for the session. So she turned on her heel and walked off to the corridor that led to the therapy rooms.

If Miguel had warned her, it meant Riddler had said or done something to him that made him choose to give her that warning. In the previous four sessions, he hadn't interfered.

He couldn't have ill intentions in trying to warn Charlize. They were colleagues, and so far, he had helped her settle in quite nicely. What ulterior motive could he have for warning her against the Riddler?

With those thoughts swirling in her head, she pushed open the door to the therapy room.

The room was bathed in white, and Ed Nygma was waiting, sitting on the chair with his hands cuffed at the table.

"Welcome, Doctor," a sinister smile spread on the man's face.

"Good morning, Edward," she took the seat across from him, feeling his curious bespectacled eyes piercing through her.

"You're late today," he remarked, turning his hand as if to check his wristwatch. However, he wasn't wearing any but still made a show of checking the time and clicking his tongue in disappointment, "So very late... That's highly unprofessional."

"I got held up," she replied, "if you don't want us to get late further, we can start right now."

"Of course! I am glad you didn't forget to come because I have a riddle for you... What ground holds twelve dwellings and has three travelers constantly moving at its center? They don't stop; they keep moving. Over and over again."

She knew his habit of involving riddles in every conversation, so she thought about the answer.

"Come on, it's very easy. I call it an icebreaker riddle," he prompted, "just to diffuse the tension."

"A clock?" She guessed, and with the gleam in his eyes, it was clear that her answer was correct.

"Bravo! A clock indeed, maybe you should use it more often. Now, your turn," he leaned forward, eager to guess whatever riddle she would put in front of him.

"I'm not here to ask riddles," she replied, knowing they already had less time than usual.

"But you're trying to help me, and to do so, you must understand me first. Isn't that a riddle itself?" He asked, his smile widening mysteriously.

She did not reply, observing his fingers thumping a rhythm on the desk.

"So, tell me, Doctor Fischer. What is it that you're fishing for?"

***